


Welcome to Austenville

by snafsnaf



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Emma - Jane Austen, Persuasion - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Magic, Mental Health Issues, More than just heterosexual characters, More than just white characters, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snafsnaf/pseuds/snafsnaf
Summary: Alice Parks accidentally stumbles upon Austenville, a little New England town where all the townspeople are characters from Austen novels.
Relationships: Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth, Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. In the Middle of Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add more tags as we get to that part of the story.

Alice drove along the backroads of New England, music blaring out of the stereo, her eyes peeled for signs and markers. Forty minutes ago, she had passed by a sign announcing Sanditon County, which was good, but she hadn’t seen another car since then and she estimated she was ten minutes late for her next turn.

The GPS in her phone didn’t work this far from civilization which was something she expected. She had copied down the directions this morning in her hotel room and had sketched a map on the back of the paper, but she had grown too accustomed to technology. She missed the comforting voice telling her that she needed to bear left in 1.5 miles. 

At last she passed a green sign letting her know that a town called Austenville was ahead. It wasn’t where she wanted to be but at least she could get out, stretch her legs, maybe grab a bite to eat, and ask for directions. 

As if on cue, the engine began to sputter. She looked down at the dashboard and saw the low fuel light blinking at her. Alice groaned in frustration. She had filled up the tank before leaving her hotel this morning but it was nearly lunch now. She had made a note to stop for gas about 90 minutes ago, but she hadn’t seen a gas station since then and now it was too late. 

She guided the car to the side of the road where it wouldn’t pose an obstacle to other drivers. As she rummaged in her trunk for a gas can, she mentally berated her brother Dean for getting her into this mess. It was his plea for help that had her leaving D.C. immediately after her dissertation. She had missed a number of parties to see what was bothering him in Maine, spent a night in a cheap hotel, eaten questionable food, gotten lost, and now run out of gas. The only bright spot was that she knew there was a town nearby. 

Locking her car and pocketing her wallet and phone, she started walking on the shoulder of the road. 

Twenty minutes later, she finally saw signs of life. A car drove by, then a golf cart; the driver waved at her in the instinctively friendly manner associated with small towns where everybody knows everybody but he still didn’t stop to offer assistance. Buildings appeared, first one or two at a time, then in greater numbers and order. Alice started walking on the sidewalk. Other pedestrians were out, and bicyclists, but no one was on the same side of the street as her and while they seemed friendly, they were not outgoing; they smiled at her then turned their heads before the contact could encourage her to ask for help. 

At last she approached the heart of town. Two-story or three-story buildings on either side of the street were for local businesses that implied Austenville stood practically dormant for three-quarters of the year, only coming alive when tourists flooded the town in the summer months. There were antique stores, ice cream “shoppes,” a few restaurants, a bar, and a laundromat. The center of the downtown was a grassy square with a statue in the center, flanked by flagpoles. The statue -- some revolutionary war hero no doubt -- stared down some ornate, columned building that was probably the city hall. 

There were no gas stations to be found, but there were a few cars parked on the streets, so they must get their fuel from somewhere. There were, unfortunately, a lot more golf carts and bicycles parked everywhere, implying a gas station was not close at hand. 

Alice was just about to duck into a coffee shop-slash-bakery named “Sweet Nothings” to ask for directions and refuel herself, when she heard a man shouting at her. 

“Hey! Hey you!” he yelled angrily, crossing the street at a run to accost her at close range. “What are you doing here?”

She had her hand on the door, pulling it open, when he reached her and pushed the door shut. Bells on the inside meant to alert the staff of arriving customers jangled discordantly. 

“What are you doing here?” the stranger demanded. “How did you get here?” He was not exactly dirty but he was unkempt and he smelled like he had rolled around in whatever might have been spilt behind a bar.

Too late Alice remembered that she had left her mace in the car but she had gone through a couple training sessions in her college dorm, as well as having one or two episodes of real-life experience. 

“Back away from me,” she said levelly. She made eye contact with him, looking severe. 

Before he could respond, the door to the shop was pushed open and an older woman came out holding a disposable cup of coffee. “Tripp, is everything alright out here?” she inquired lightly. She stepped forward, crowding the man so that he had to move back. 

Tripp blinked slightly at this newcomer and struggled briefly for words. “There’s a stranger in town,” he said at last. 

The woman looked at Alice and smiled warmly. “Yes,” she agreed, “but I don’t think she means us any harm.”

“Of course not!” declared Tripp indignantly. “But how did she get here? That’s what I want to know, Anne. Where is she from?” He turned to Alice. “Where are you from?”

“Why don’t you let me talk to her,” suggested Anne. “Let Jenny make you a cup of coffee while I talk to this nice woman here.” She opened the door to the shop and shooed him inside. Alice thought the last thing he needed was caffeine but when the door shut behind him, she could have sworn that the bells sounded soothing to her.

The woman sighed and shook her head. “Sorry about that,” she apologized. “Tripp can be a little intense and he needs his routine. We’re not due for tourists for another two weeks.” She held out her hand. “I’m Anne, by the way. Anne Darby.”

“Alice,” Alice rejoined, shaking hands. “Alice Parks. Who was that?”

“That was Tripp. He’s really quite harmless. But I understand he can be intimidating if you don’t know him.” 

“You can say that again,” Alice agreed, watching the man through the coffee shop’s large front window. He was talking with the barista who was laughing comfortably at whatever he was saying.

“So,” Anne continued with a small gesture to Alice’s gas can, “did you have some car trouble?”

“Yes,” Alice said, relieved to be getting back to the task at hand. “Yes, I ran out of gas about a mile or so down the road, and I walked into town. Where’s the nearest gas station?”

The question momentarily stumped Anne Darby. “Hmm. The closest one I can think of is 15 miles away.” 

“Are you serious?” Alice asked before she could stop herself.

Anne looked apologetic. “Sorry. I’m not much help. I don’t drive a car, myself; I get vertigo. And if I ever do need to go somewhere, I get my cousin Gerry to take me. Maybe Public Safety can help you.”

Ms. Darby then offered to walk Alice to the public safety office which housed the town's police, fire, and emergency medical responders. Along the way, she asked politely how it was again that Alice had come to town. 

“I’m on my way to see my brother,” she explained. “I had gotten lost and wasn’t paying attention to the gas gauge until it was too late.”

Alice looked up as they passed by a placard. “Longbourn Bed and Breakfast, Agnes Bennet Proprietress,” she read aloud. It had been a few years since she had last read _Pride and Prejudice_ , but she couldn’t forget the name of the heroine’s home or her family. Something clicked in her head, reminding her of a few towns she had heard of that have an annual Shakespeare festival, or the time in her childhood when her parents had taken her to a live-action Dickens village for Christmas. 

She stopped to ask Ms. Darby if Austenville was similar but the bells to Sweet Nothings jangled again and Tripp came dashing out to chase after them, his cup of coffee in hand. 

“Anne!” he called out as he ran past a few storefronts. “Did you find out about her yet?”

“Let me handle him,” Anne offered Alice quietly before turning to the young man. “Her name is Miss Parks and she’s on her way to see her brother. She’ll be gone as soon as she can.”

“How did she even get here?” he asked. “We never get visitors.”

“That’s not true, Tripp,” Anne corrected him gently. “In another two weeks, this place will be packed with tourists.”

“In another two weeks, the world is going to end,” Tripp offered up his own interpretation.

“So do you celebrate the works of Austen every year?” Alice asked, figuring it was as good a segue as she could find. She wanted to get to her brother as soon as possible, but maybe she could stop here on the way back to D.C.

Tripp gasped and dropped his cup. The coffee splattered all over the sidewalk and his shoes. “What did you say?” 

“I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I just thought with a name like Austenville, and a bed and breakfast named Longbourn, that you’ve got some literary festival.” It sounded far-fetched when she voiced it aloud. 

“A-ha!” Tripp crowed. “What have I been telling you, Anne? Austen! And what is Austen’s first name?” He posed the question to Alice in an accusing tone.

“J-Jane,” stuttered Alice before she remembered not to let him intimidate her.

“A-ha!” he crowed again. “This proves what I’ve been saying for years. What are you going to do about it now, Anne?”

Anne could see how visibly uncomfortable Alice had become. The young woman clearly expected the man to do something wild at any moment, and she was not half-wrong.

“You need to calm down, Tripp,” she said calmly yet firmly. “You’re not making a good impression on our visitor. I think you need to back away and give her some space.”

Tripp scowled but then he looked at Alice who looked sincerely terrified. He seemed to tone down his intensity. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said in an almost normal tone of voice. “It’s just that no one else seems to understand what I’m talking about. Eventually, it makes a man feel like he’s going insane. But you understand. Austen! Jane Austen! There can be no order without it. Finally, a voice of reason has arrived. What did you say your name was?” 

“Alice Parks,” she answered numbly. 

“Alice… Alice? Are you sure it isn’t Elizabeth?” This detail seemed important to him, and disappointing. When she nodded, he signed with deep regret. “Well then it’s hopeless,” he concluded and bid them a good day. 

Alice stood with Anne and watched him go. When he disappeared down a side street, she turned to the other woman. “What was that?” she whispered, afraid he would come back. 

Anne just shrugged. “He’s never been quite right since his sister died, I’m afraid. He’s not all there all the time, but when he is, he’s great. You’ve just caught him on an off day. We handle grief in our own private ways.”

Alice thought it sounded tragic. Tripp didn’t look old, maybe her brother’s age; what would Dean act like if she had died? What would it take to push him over the edge and end up like Tripp? She didn’t want to dwell on that question, and Anne was kind enough to start moving again. 

The public safety office was right next to the city hall, with a clear view of the statue in the center of the square. Anne took her to the front door and then apologized that she couldn’t stay but she had errands of her own to run. Alice thanked her warmly and let her go. 

Alice hadn’t been in a police station before. She had been a well-behaved child and had not developed any wild tendencies as she grew older. She approached the front kiosk the way she might at a museum or library, and tapped a bell to alert the local law enforcement of her presence. 

A minute later, a man came to the window. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform with close cut hair and a few tattoos on one arm. He asked if he could be of assistance and Alice again explained about her car. 

“Ma’am, you need an auto club,” he informed her, “not public safety. Call Thorpe’s Towing.” He moved away as if to dismiss her. 

“Wait!” Alice stopped him. “I brought a gas can. All I need is enough gas to drive to the nearest gas station. Where is that? Can you at least tell me where it is? If it’s close enough to walk to, I won’t need a tow. Please?” 

She felt herself getting close to tears. Not that she was worried about her brother, but he had never needed her help before and he wouldn’t have asked for her to come unless it was serious. And the stress of traveling alone, combined with getting stuck in a strange place, surrounded by even stranger people, was quickly wearing her out. She didn’t want to be the sort of female that dissolved into tears, but fate was toying past her endurance. 

The police officer looked like the last thing he wanted to see was a crying woman but before he could complete his retreat another figure approached.

“Who’s this, Fred?” asked the older officer. 

Officer Fred gave a quick summary of the situation, then offered to cede control of the situation to his superior. 

“Naw, Fred, I think you’ve got it in hand,” said the other man. “Just give her a couple gallons and drive her out to her car and let her be on her way. Serve and protect, son.” 

Alice gushed with gratitude. “Thank you, sir! Your honor!” She didn’t really know how to address this man.

“Chris Brandon, Chief of Public Safety,” he supplied with a smile that made his face suddenly resemble a bloodhound. 

“Thank you, Chief,” Alice amended. “And thank you, Officer Fred. You have no idea how much this means to me.” 

The younger officer winced at the name but said nothing at the time. It was only later, when Alice was climbing into the squad car, still blurting out thank-yous, that he put a stop to her unwelcome familiarity. “Thank you, Officer Fred,” she said again. 

“That’s Officer Wentworth to you,” he corrected grumpily. 

This brought on a round of apologies from Alice until the name suddenly clicked. “So your name is Fred Wentworth?”

The officer sighed his assent. 

Alice fought the urge to giggle. “I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about your name, I’m sorry.” She really oughtn’t antagonize the man who was helping her. 

“What’s wrong with my name?” he asked testily.

Alice smiled. “Well, Fred Wentworth is a very famous name. At least in some circles.” She supposed not everyone read period romances. “I mean, Fred Wentworth, Navy captain --”

“Coast Guard,” blurted the officer. 

Alice furrowed her brow. Was he trying to mansplain Jane Austen to her? “I’m pretty sure it was the Navy.”

“I’m absolutely certain I was in the Coast Guard.” To emphasize his statement, he pointed to a tattoo on his lower arm. 

Her mouth hung open for a little bit then she muttered a quiet, “Oh,” and fell silent. Her mind tried to make sense of this. Here was a real-life Fred Wentworth who knew nothing of his literary namesake, who had managed to serve in the Coast Guard rather than the Navy. The odds were pretty high against that, in her estimation. When she factored in that he lived in a town named after the writer that had made his name and military service famous, she couldn't imagine this actually happening. Then she tried to figure out how the bed and breakfast and Tripp's bizarre behavior placed in the overall scene when Officer Wentworth slowed his vehicle.

Alice’s car was almost but not quite where she had left it. It remained on the side of the road but someone had obviously moved it. It hadn't gone a great distance but it had traveled with great force and was, in the common parlance, wrapped around a tree. She was going to need more than a few gallons of fuel to escape Austenville. 


	2. The First Catalysis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A catalyst is something that can spark or increase a reaction. A catalysis is when a reaction accelerates due to the presence of a catalyst.

While Alice and Officer Wentworth both knew a crime had been committed, Alice believed that it had been done _to_ her while Officer Wentworth acted as if it had been done _by_ her. He started asking a lot of incriminating questions like was the car really hers and had she been drinking earlier.

The officer got on the radio and spoke with Chief Brandon and arranged for a tow from Thorpe after all. He took a few pictures of the crash and wrote down Alice’s version of events.

"Ma'am, looking at this scene, would you like to amend your statement?" he asked when she was done.

"What? No," said Alice, defensively. "I left my car parked on the side of the road. I locked it too, I know I did. Someone else must have crashed it."

"How do you reckon someone broke into your car and drove it into a tree when it was out of gas?" Wentworth wondered. "And why break into your car if they didn't take anything?"

Alice tried to pinpoint the exact moment when her day had officially turned into a nightmare. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe if she pinched herself she would wake up. 

She did not wake up. Her day only got worse. The tow truck arrived and the driver had a long conversation with Wentworth that involved a lot of private jokes and references to people she didn't know. The worst part, however, was when he addressed her.

"You hit Tripp's sister's tree," the mechanic told her in a tone that clearly communicated that this was a very bad thing. "He is going to go crazy when he finds out," he warned her, although how one could tell the difference between normal crazy and hit-a-tree crazy was beyond her.

At the rate she was going, she'd still be in town when that happened.

She tried to call her brother on the ride back to the station but couldn't get any reception. She sat in stunned silence the rest of the way.

A drab mouse of a woman was in the front of the public safety office, talking to the chief, explaining that someone named Will had forgotten his paycheck and she was here to pick it up. 

Brandon sighed his hound-dog sigh and fished an envelope out of a bank of cubbies. "This is the last time, Lois," he said. "Next time he'll have to come in himself. And what's wrong with direct deposit? His sister works at the bank, for pity's sake."

The woman promised to give him the message then scurried away. When she was gone Officer Wentworth couldn't help asking, "Did Price forget his check once again?"

The name clicked for Alice. "You have a Will Price working here?" she blurted out. 

"Why?" Brandon asked. "Do you know him?"

Not exactly, thought Alice. "You've got a William Price, a Frederick Wentworth, and a Christopher Brandon? And all three of you work as police in Austenville?" She would admit to the possibility of meeting a real person who had the same name as a literary character, but not three of them all working together.

"Austenville has nearly two-dozen public safety officers," Brandon stressed, missing her point. "All of us are cross-trained in police, fire, and EMT duties."

"Can you please drop the act?" said Alice, trying not to raise her voice. "Can you please stop being the character for a couple minutes? Someone wrecked my car and I don't really want to deal with a bunch of LARPers. Is it even legal for you guys to run around with guns and police badges when you're not who you say you are?" 

Alice wasn’t technically arrested, but she was detained after her outburst, which only made her more angry, at least temporarily. Which was why she ended up handcuffed in the interrogation room for an hour to "cool off."

After her time-out was officially over, another officer came to speak with her, someone she had yet to meet. He introduced himself as Officer Dennis and offered her a bottle of water before asking her to explain her behavior. The time in detention had been vital in helping Alice realize that she needed to get out of this town as quickly as possible, which meant that she had to get on the good side of the local law enforcement. She blamed her outburst on low blood sugar and the heat and just being overwhelmed by the damage to her car. She was the epitome of non-threatening, not exactly groveling but not above using men’s stereotypical interpretations of young women to her advantage. Officer Dennis nodded and took notes. He asked her again what had happened to her car and she repeated the same story she had given to Officer Wentworth. 

Then he asked her how long she was going to be in town. 

“I’ve got to get to my brother,” she said. “I won’t be here a moment longer than necessary. Please, just let me go and I promise to be good and keep my head down.”

That was enough. Austenville wasn’t Mayberry, but it was close enough. 

Jason Thorpe at the garage told her he could get it fixed in a few days at first, but the longer she stood there and marvelled at his speed, the longer his estimate became, so that by the time she left, rolling her suitcase behind her, the car wouldn’t be ready for a week at the earliest. There were the parts to source, the insurance company to wrestle with, all the repairs to be made, and some additional work she no doubt had always wanted but had been unable to get before -- here he rattled off a list that included heated seats and a moonroof -- that was best to do now.

Alice interrupted him. "But I don't want any of that stuff," she said emphatically. "I need to get to my brother as soon as possible. I don't care about heated seats."

The mechanic looked at her pityingly, as if no one in her right mind would turn down such an offer. He tried to change her mind, flirting outrageously, but she stood firm, and when it became clear that Thorpe was going to keep suggesting unnecessary repairs, she told him, "No," and then claimed that she had some phone calls to make and left.

She tried to reach her brother again but there was no connection. She’d have to find a landline, but where? She was stuck in Austenville for the next seven days or so. She’d need a place to sleep cheaply, but first and foremost she needed to eat!

As she walked down a street, she caught sight of a familiar and welcome face. “Anne!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you.” And then she explained everything that had happened to her since the two parted ways earlier that day. 

Anne Darby was suitably sympathetic. “Let’s get you something to eat,” she said, and directed Alice to the Sweet Nothings shop. The bells hanging on the door tinkled comfortingly and the smells beckoned her. The woman behind the counter smiled and welcomed them. Anne recommended the soup of the day, and Alice was sold. 

The soup came with a heel of crusty bread and a milky coffee. Not having eaten since breakfast, Alice gobbled it down. She had just gone back to the counter to pick out a dessert when the bells jingled and another customer rushed in. Alice flinched, expecting it to be the town vagrant come to harass her once more, but it was only a hurried woman not much older than Alice herself. 

She spoke her greetings to Jenny behind the counter who told the customer -- Kelly was her name -- that the usual was ready to pick up. Jenny then handed over a paper bag and Kelly paid and walked out, calling out her thanks and goodbyes as she went. It all happened so fast that Alice wasn’t even sure that Kelly had noticed anyone else was in the shop. 

Jenny chatted amiably with them, and Alice thought the barista was just the sort of person that Alice couldn’t stand. Jenny was tall and blonde, pretty and friendly. She was the kind of woman that guys couldn’t resist, and if Alice had a boyfriend she’d be in constant fear that he would leave her for an upgrade. 

Jenny made the appropriate noises of commiseration upon hearing Alice’s story. Anne then spoke up and asked if Jenny would bring Alice to Longbourn to ask for a room. “I’d bring her there myself but I know Agnes would charge double for the room. If you ask, I’m sure Alice will get a discounted rate.” 

Naturally Jenny agreed. She escorted the other two women to the front door, flipped a sign that said, “We’ll be right back!” and locked the door behind her. Here Anne Darby announced she needed to get going. She had a family dinner to get to. 

Alice thanked her profusely then let her go. She turned back to Jenny and smiled encouragingly. 

Jenny brought her to the Longbourne and spoke with Agnes Bennet, saying just what Mrs. Bennet needed to hear to consider Alice a good friend, and any friend of Jenny Mason was sure to be a good guest at Austenville’s best bed and breakfast. Of course, given that Alice would be staying for a whole week and that the tourist season wasn’t yet started, she could certainly give Alice a discount and a room with an ensuite. 

Alice took her key and went to her room. She collapsed on the bed and just lay there for a moment. Agnes Bennet was exactly the sort of person Alice imagined she would be based on her literary namesake. The woman was exhausting even in small doses, and that was on top of all the other events of the day. Alice wanted nothing more than to change into her pajamas and pull the covers over her head, trusting that tomorrow couldn’t be as bad as today.

However, when Alice opened her suitcase, she discovered that her fancy shampoo had leaked out of its bottle and all over her clothes. She might be able to rinse them out in the tub, but they wouldn’t be dry in time to wear, not tonight, not tomorrow morning. 

She groaned, and groaned again more loudly. Then she zipped up her bag and wheeled it back down the hall, past the front desk, and out again onto the street where she pointed her steps toward the laundromat. 

The bright sign of Lynch Cleaners welcomed her and Alice recognized the attendant as the woman who had picked up her lunch in a flash at Sweet Nothings. Kelly was very helpful, and not as stunningly gorgeous as Jenny, so Alice took an immediate liking to her. After dumping everything into a washer and starting the cycle, she sat back and started to chat with Kelly. 

Kelly’s story was small-town boring but eventually became recognizable. Her grandparents had bought the laundromat. Her dad had added the dry cleaning service. Kelly was in college when her mother died. She took a semester off to recover from the grief, then decided to stay home to look after the laundry when it became clear that her father didn’t have a head for business. Kelly had hoped her younger sister would join her at the laundromat, but Jill didn’t want any part of it. She had used getting an education as her initial excuse to get out of putting in a full week’s work, then wedding planning, then being a newlywed. When Jill became pregnant, she announced she was quitting for good. By then, Walt Lynch had remarried a woman named Elise who was only five years older than Kelly. Unlike Anne’s mother, Elise had no interest in something as mundane as a laundry. She and Walt dumped the business completely onto Kelly although they -- and Jill -- still expected a portion of the profits and were not above reaching their hands directly into the till on their way to dinner. Boyfriends were noticeably absent from Kelly’s own story.

Kelly had even taken Alice to the back of the store where the two scrubbed the suds from the inside of Alice’s suitcase. After having transferred the clothes to the dryer, Alice sat back and felt her stomach grumble. The soup had only been two hours ago, but it was time for dinner. 

“Do you mind if I pop out to get a bite to eat?” she asked. 

“Mind if I come with you?” Kelly asked. 

* * *

Martin’s Pizzeria had an amazing fig and onion pizza, and the medium thin crust was the perfect size for the two of them. A few beer bottles sat between them, the laundry was forgotten, and the talk turned to family.

“I really need to call my brother, but I can’t get a signal here,” Alice complained. “Have you never heard of cell towers in Austenville?”

“Oh, we use the city-wide wifi. Here, give me your phone,” said Kelly. Alice handed over the device and Kelly went into the settings. When she handed back the phone, Alice finally had a signal. 

Alice gushed her thanks and spent a few moments checking her messages. Dean had called a few times, and sent a few texts: “What’s your ETA?” “When will you get here?” “Where are you?!” “CALL! ME!! ASAP!!!”

Alice slumped in her booth. “This is not good," she stated the obvious and showed the screen to Kelly.

"He's starting to sound like my father," frowned Kelly, "except every text he's ever sent me sounds like the world is about to end unless I drop everything to handle his problems. What happened to your brother?"

Alice shrugged. "That's the worst part: I don't know. He wouldn't tell me why, just told me to get to Maine by this afternoon. This isn't like him."

"Is there anyone else you can call to pick you up and take you to him?" suggested Kelly. "Like a friend in the area or a boyfriend?"

"My friends are all in D.C. And there's no boyfriend," said Alice. "None since freshman year." She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice which earned her an inquiring look. Kelly didn't want to pry, but if Alice was in a talkative mood, she wasn't going to refuse to listen.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Okay. So I had a boyfriend in high school. We got accepted to different colleges; he was going to the west coast, I stayed on the east coast. We tried to make the long-distance relationship work, but it didn't. I mean, yes, it did at first. Christmas break was great. But he decided to stay put for Spring break; he said the airfare was ‘too expensive.’” She wagged her fingers in the air to call attention to the lie. “I mean, I'm sure it was, but I could sense him pulling away. When we first started college, we'd email or text each other a few times a day and phone each other every weekend. But by March, it would take him a week to return my emails, he never replied to my texts, and whenever I suggested we have a call, he pointed out the time difference and said he couldn't do it. I felt like I was turning into a clingy girlfriend, and nobody likes that. Clingy girlfriends have a way of morphing into crazy ex-girlfriends. But we were so far apart. What were my options?"

"What did you do?" asked Kelly.

"I asked him if he was happy with our relationship," Alice said. "I was trying to be subtle but it was like a dam broke. He said no, he wasn't happy, hadn’t been for months, and he was so relieved I felt the same way. He had been dreading coming home this summer just to break up with me, but since I had brought it up, why wait? I never saw him again." She drank a swallow of beer. "I found out later that he had been seeing someone since just after winter break. He’d told her that we had broken up at Christmas. Moral of the story: no more long-distance relationships."

Kelly shook her head. "There's a number of lessons to learn from that story." In her opinion, it wasn't the distance that mattered.

Alice then asked for Kelly's heartbreak story. After all, it was only fair to share.

"What makes you think I have a story?" Kelly squirmed in her seat.

"Everyone has a story," Alice remarked.

Kelly sighed and traced patterns on the tabletop. "Well, I suppose it’s like yours. I had a high school boyfriend and it ended poorly," she summarized. "He asked me to the winter formal our senior year and from then on we were inseparable. And then we graduated, and right after commencement he…" Her voice trailed off to a whisper. "He asked me to marry him."

"He did what?" Alice yelped.

"Keep your voice down," Kelly shushed her.

"He asked you to marry him when you were both 18 years old?" Alice marvelled, trying to be quiet. "What century did you graduate in?" Seeing the hurt look in Kelly's face brought Alice down quickly. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just, who does that?"

"Don't worry. Your reaction was actually a lot calmer and nicer than when I told my parents. They were adamantly against it. They were convinced we were too young for anything so serious and final. They had a lot of compelling arguments against it. In the end, I turned him down. I wasn’t ready for marriage yet. I didn’t want to lose him, but I couldn’t accept him. He didn't take it well. It was all or nothing with him. He took my _no_ as a complete rejection, joined the military, and was gone before Fourth of July." There was disappointment in her voice rather than a grudge against ill-treatment. 

"And you never saw him again?" prompted Alice.

Kelly laughed painfully. "I wish it was that easy. No, he moved back home when his tour was up. The first thing he did was get a serious girlfriend -- someone I knew, naturally; the curse of a small town. For a while they lived together. Everyone thought they'd get married but then they broke it off after a few years and she recently married someone else."

"He sounds like a jerk," Alice tried to commiserate.

"He's not," Kelly corrected her quickly. "He was my best friend, and I still miss him even though I see him all the time." She frowned at her plate. “We weren’t together for very long and we had already split up, but when Mom died, he was the one I wanted to talk to. Of course I didn’t know how to get in touch with him. And after that, it seemed too late. I still love him, if you can imagine that, not that it does me any good. Not that it ever will.” 

The two fell silent for so long that the waitress brought their check. Kelly grabbed it before Alice could reach for it. “My treat,” she announced.

They argued back and forth but Kelly didn’t back down. They finally settled it that Alice would handle the tip. Kelly took the check to the cash register while Alice stayed behind to place a few bills for the waitress and gather her things. As she stood up, she thought she recognized a familiar silhouette in the booth next to hers. She leaned over for a better look. 

“Officer Wentworth?” she piped up.

A guilty, trapped look flashed over his face before being replaced by his typical steely glare. “Move along, Miss Parks. You didn’t see me here.” 

“Y-yes sir,” she said obediently and went to find Kelly. Was Officer Wentworth keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn’t get into any more trouble? Would he be hovering ominously in the background during her entire weeklong stay? 

The walk back to the laundromat was short and Alice made quick work of pulling her clothes out of the dryer and dumping them into her suitcase. She was just saying her goodbyes to Kelly and thanking her for a surprisingly pleasant evening when Officer Wentworth walked in. 

“Officer Wentworth,” Alice said familiarly before thinking better of greeting him after their last conversation in the restaurant. Kelly was no better and stood there silent and blushing. 

Wentworth first fixed his glare on Kelly, then Alice. “Good night, Miss Parks,” he said dismissively. 

Alice glanced at Kelly for guidance. If her friend didn’t want to be alone with the cop, Alice would find a way to stay. 

Kelly wobbled a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alice,” she said reassuringly.

Feeling as if she was making a mistake, Alice wheeled her suitcase out of the laundromat. It was only later, in her rented room as she was folding her clothes neatly, that she nearly cried out at the discovery. “Kelly Lynch!” she exclaimed. “Kellynch! That was Anne Elliot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some characters have the same name in Austenville as they do in the books while others have different names. I wish I had a really deep and well-reasoned explanation of why each character got one or the other beyond the whole, "Jane Austen seriously lacked imagination when it came to naming her characters and I need more than three female names to work with."


	3. Plotting the Second Act

Tripp cradled his second cup of coffee the next morning as he walked his route. He didn't run anymore -- what was the point of getting nowhere faster than other people? -- but he still covered the same ground every day. And he could drink coffee while walking, a serious improvement over running. 

He slowed his steps on Main Street as he approached two other figures blocking his sidewalk. They were huddled close together, kissing, so they didn't take up much space but this town wasn't big on public displays of affection. People might hold hands but they didn't engage in full-frontal smooching in broad daylight. It was enough to merit a stare.

When the pair finally separated, Tripp saw that they were none other than Frederick Wentworth and Anne Elliott. Sure, she might be known as Kelly Lynch in Austenville, but that didn't change who she truly was. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, after all. At her core, Kelly was Anne Elliott, perpetually in love with Frederick Wentworth and unable to do anything about it. Tripp knew it, just as he knew how wrong it was, but he was the only one in town who seemed to know how everyone's stories were supposed to work out, and he had been branded as mentally unstable as a person could be without getting locked up. He was tolerated and condescended to, rather like a stray dog everyone fed scraps to yet nobody wanted to take home. No one ever believed his occasional ravings. Being taken seriously was just about as impossible as finding someone who knew who Jane Austen was, or as ridiculous as watching Fred Wentworth make out with Anne Elliott.

He blinked when he realized they had stopped to look at him. Then he shut his mouth which had been hanging open.

"Morning, Tripp. Are you going to have a good day today?" asked Wentworth, his hand still resting on Kelly's hip.

Tripp said the first thing that came to him: "A frabjous day!" It wasn't even a real word. Outbursts like that had him questioning his own sanity from time to time, but it fit the picture the other two had formed of him.

Wentworth whispered something to Kelly, kissed her a few more times, then got back into his car with a nod of farewell and drove off. Kelly waved at the departing brake lights and then went inside her store. 

Tripp remained where he stood, trying to make sense of it. The residents of Austenville had been stuck in a never-changing cycle for years. The only new thing in town had been Mayor Darby's engagement to Dr. Singer, and Tripp was firmly convinced those nuptials spelled doom for the small town. As much as it was natural for Frederick Wentworth and Anne Elliott to kiss and make up, he had given up on actually seeing their reconciliation. What had possibly changed in the last day or two to upset the balance and knock those two back onto the path of their destiny?

He decided to visit the laundromat and find out. 

Kelly was near the door, having not moved much since entering. When she saw Tripp come in, she looked away bashfully, then covered her burning cheeks and fought off a fit of giggles.

"I'm sorry you saw that, Tripp," she choked out. "You did see that, right?" It looked like she just realized she might be on the tail end of the most amazing dream ever.

"Oh yes, I got an eyeful," he assured her. "But how did it happen? I thought you two were ancient history." 

Kelly giggled again. "Oh, it was the most random thing! I had gone to dinner with a new friend and we got to talking about ex-boyfriends. I told her the whole story about Fred and me, and all the while Fred was sitting in the booth right behind me! I had no idea he was there but, oh, how embarrassing!" She paused to press her hands to her flaming cheeks.

"Anyway, after we left the restaurant, he followed me here and we had a little heart to heart."

"You must have had a lot of ground to cover if you were still at it this morning," he observed but Kelly wouldn't reply. "And who is this new friend with a went-worthy ex? I can't imagine there's anybody in town you don't already know."

This was a topic in which Kelly felt safe speaking. "Her name is Alice Parks. She's only in town temp--"

"Alice Parks!" Tripp exclaimed, remembering her as the stranger from yesterday. "Where is she?"

"Now, Tripp, she's not from around here," Kelly warned him. "She's not used to your ways. I don't want you pestering her."

"Of course not. Scout’s honor!" Tripp meaninglessly promised. "Besides, how can I avoid pestering her if I don't know where she is to avoid her? If I wanted to stop somewhere for breakfast, should I avoid Longbourn, for instance, or Barton?" He tried to be clever but he was almost too excited to play it cool. 

"Why don't you go to Sweet Nothings instead?" suggested Kelly.

Tripp nodded and showed himself out. He would just have to check both places.

He found her in the dining room at Longbourn, having breakfast for one at a table clearly meant for two. “We need to talk,” he said, dropping into the seat across from her. 

She yelped in surprise and dropped her butter knife. 

“Let me begin by admiring your powers of _Persuasion_ ” he said with a meaningful look.

“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked guiltily.

“I mean, I see you’ve met Anne Elliot.”

“Her name is Kelly Lynch,” said Alice, admitting too much.

“Yes, and people here call me Tripp. That doesn’t change who we are. And you know exactly what I’m talking about, so let’s not pretend otherwise.”

“You’re all characters from Austen’s novels. You're not real,” Alice stated. “None of you are.”

"Not real?" Tripp repeated, offended. He reached out and pinched her. She yelped. “That felt pretty real, didn’t it? I assure you, we’re as real as you are," he told her. "Do you even know who your author is?"

Alice opened her mouth to answer that she had no author when he stopped her. “No, don’t tell me. It’s irrelevant. The question is, Alice, can you help me save the town?” 

He looked at her expectantly and sipped his coffee. Alice was saved from an immediate response by someone else barging into the room.

“Tripp Haber, you deranged vagrant,” growled a teenager, “I thought I smelled your stench. Get out of here before I tell Mom.” She stalked over to the sideboard and crammed a pastry into her mouth.

“Lydia Bennet, you worthless truant,” he shot back from the rim of his cup, “shouldn’t you be in school? It’s 8:30 at least. Norris will have your guts for garters.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and stomped out. A few seconds later they heard the front door open and slam shut.

Tripp turned his attention back to Alice. “Well, what's your answer?" he asked, beginning to tap his foot impatiently.

"What's wrong with the town?" she asked in response, stalling for time.

He scoffed at her failure to grasp the obvious. "What's wrong? What's wrong! Have you met the people in Austenville?" 

"Yes? And they don't know who they are?" she guessed. 

Tripp’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. "It doesn't matter if they knew or not, although knowing would make it easier. We all have to act out our stories and fulfill our destinies, and knowing their destinies certainly helps, but people are missing. Important people are missing. We've got Mrs. Bennet's four-and-twenty neighboring families. We have all those young people that Sir John Middleton invited to Barton for picnics and dances. We even have all the residents of Laura Place. But there are two people I cannot find, and their absence threatens the entire town. They are William Collins and Elizabeth Bennet."

Alice felt herself getting drawn into the story in spite of its ridiculousness. "But what can I do?"

"I myself am very curious to find out what you can do," Tripp admitted. "But there has to be a reason why you came here when no one else ever arrives. There has to be a reason why you were able to bring Fred and Kelly together, now. There has to be a reason why your car hit Nelly’s tree."

"How do you know about the tree?" she asked nervously.

"Because Jason Thorpe thinks keeping a secret means you have to speak _in a whisper_ ," he told her confidentially. "Don't worry. I'm not angry. Your car suffered the worst from the altercation. That seems fair. But it's obvious to me that you are meant to be here. And for what other reason than to stop the wedding?"

"Wedding? Wait. Who's getting married?" Alice was having trouble keeping pace with his rapidly changing thoughts. "I thought you wanted to find missing people."

He rolled his eyes. "The Singer-Darby wedding. It's next Saturday. And if the mayor marries Dr. Singer, there's no point in finding Elizabeth Bennet."

"Who--" she began, then stopped. She should be able to figure some of this out on her own. Darby had to be Fitzwilliam Darcy, and naturally he was the mayor of Austenville, but who was Dr. Singer? 

"Caroline Bingley and Fitzwilliam Darcy," snapped Tripp when the silence went on too long. "You know Austen. You've read _Pride and Prejudice_. You know it would be catastrophic if those two wed. I don't think our town could survive it."

"You want me to break up a wedding?" 

"Obviously. You spent a few hours with Kelly last night and suddenly _Persuasion_ is on track. If you can meet Mayor Darby, who knows what might happen?"

Who knew, indeed? "Can you even arrange for me to see the mayor?" she asked. "I mean, it's not like you work at City Hall, right? The mayor is probably pretty busy and doesn't have spare time to waste on a random visitor who has already promised the cops to keep a low profile. And what can I possibly do to make him call off a wedding? I mean, with _Persuasion_ , it's pretty obvious in retrospect what I should have done was exactly what I did, but what can I possibly do to make Darcy leave Caroline Bingley at the altar if there's no Elizabeth Bennet?" 

At that Tripp leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. It was odd watching him think quietly rather than dodging the verbal projections of his thoughts.

"All right," he said at last. "Let's have lunch and we can plot from there."

"Now?" She wasn't yet finished with breakfast.

He gave her a withering glare. "At noon, on the square, like sane people. I'll make a picnic. It will be the picture of normalcy. Make yourself presentable. And if we spy the mayor taking a midday stroll, I'll be sure to throw you in his path."

"And what about you?" Alice asked, grasping at tatters of self-esteem. "Will you make yourself presentable too?"

"What's wrong with me?" he said in all innocence.

"Really?" She wrinkled her nose. When Lydia had said she could smell him, she wasn't half wrong. And he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, as probably the last few weeks. How was picnicking with a smelly, dirty, loud vagrant in front of City Hall an attempt to keep her head down?

"What does it matter when the world's going to end in two weeks?" 

"I’m here now, so take a shower," she told him.

* * *

Alice spent the rest of the morning making phone calls and sending emails. She had already left her brother a stalker-worthy number of voicemails along with an epic email and he had yet to respond. She was getting worried about him but none of her friends were able to pick her up. The only thing that kept her from a full-blown panic was a curt email from one of Dean’s friends saying that her brother was fine, just in need of a wingman. Alice thought that was a strange reason to beg his sister to join him in Maine but lacking a competing explanation, what else could she think?

She also spoke with her insurance agent. The company was challenging Thorpe’s original estimate and the agent recommended she speak with the garage directly to resolve the conflict. Her agent was too busy to come up and work with her himself but he had a colleague in town who might act on his behalf. 

"You have a representative in Austenville?" Alice asked, not really sure she believed it. How could the real world have a toehold in this place?

"Well, he's not exactly ours," came the voice over her phone. "He's unaffiliated, so we can use him." He gave her the address and she promised to find the guy after lunch.

By the time she walked to the city center, the pastries of the morning were a distant memory to her stomach and she was in the mood for lunch, and she could not imagine why she had entrusted the responsibility of procuring food to Tripp. She also couldn't believe that she had agreed to meet him, but at least they were in a public place. Should he do something truly weird, there would be witnesses. In the end, she was forced to conclude that he was not terribly crazy. He was still grieving for his sister and probably depressed, but if people thought he was harmful or dangerous, he wouldn't be out walking the streets. And he was the only person she had found so far who understood how odd this town was, peopled with fictional characters, and didn't make her feel crazy for wanting to talk about it.

She had some time to kill when she reached the green space so she meandered to the statue that looked over the government building. The plaque announced the man was General Mason Tilney, a local war hero. "Naturally," Alice sighed. 

She had staked out a park bench and was sitting contentedly, watching people pass, when she finally spotted Tripp. He had showered and changed his clothes, but he was wearing what she could only describe as a costume. It looked like a track suit from his high school days; it still fit him, mostly, but he had grown taller since then and it was out of fashion. He was carrying one thing in each hand: a coffee cup, and a small brown paper bag that Alice desperately hoped contained a wad of cash so she could buy real food at one of the nearby restaurants.

"Happy?" he said as he sat down and handed her the bag. 

"Yes?" she guessed. He had washed, and smelled of soap, so that was a big improvement. "But why are you wearing that… outfit?"

"Because I was otherwise out of clean clothes except for pajamas, and I can't imagine Officer Fred turning a blind eye to that. I threw everything in the washer and then forgot to move it to the dryer in time for our appointment. Plus, there's lunch," he said with a small gesture to the bag.

Alice was almost afraid to open it but he was going to do it for her if she didn't hurry up, so she held her breath and peeked.

"Eggs? Three eggs?" she counted. "Are they cooked or do I need to do more to them?"

"Of course I boiled them," he replied, indignant. "What else distracted me from the laundry? I was going to make egg salad but it turns out I don't have any other ingredients. And I didn't have time to run to the supermarket because I was busy doing laundry." His tone made it clear that this was all her fault.

Alice took out an egg and cracked it gently. She was unsure what calamity she most expected: that the egg was undercooked or just plain rotten. The egg, however, was perfectly done except for being completely plain. 

"So what does Mayor Darby look like?" she said for a new topic.

Tripp shrugged and grabbed the bag from her. "Exactly like you'd expect: tall, dark, and handsome; old-money style; soft-spoken; hates crowds and public speaking. If you look at him for the first time and don't immediately swoon, either you’re just not into men or it's not Fitzgerald Darby."

Alice fought the urge to smile at his description. Perhaps someone was a little jealous.

"Does the mayor know he's a character?"

Tripp shrugged then shook his head. "I've never asked him but no one I've ever asked has admitted to knowing. And eventually I quit asking because it was making the wrong people nervous. And when you think about it, why would an entire town pretend not to know this sort of thing when they know it makes me agitated? I've been vocal enough. If anyone else had figured it out, they could easily have sought me out." 

He handed the bag back to Alice. It contained nothing but shells. She sighed slightly, then cleared her throat. He had managed to bring coffee for himself, but had nothing for her. She was just about to say that she was going to dash over to one of the shops to buy a bottle of water when his face -- his entire body -- soured.

"What is it?" she asked in a moment of curiosity. 

"Fred and Kelly," he growled. "Right behind us." 

Alice peeked. Sure enough, it was Officer Wentworth and Kelly Lynch enjoying a much more photogenic and substantive picnic. They laughed and snuggled, drank bottles of juice, and even fed each other morsels of food. Alice thought it was cute, even romantic, but she could see it made Tripp uncomfortable.

"Wow, they're really making up for lost time," she commented, feeling that Tripp would appreciate some sympathy.

"It's disgusting," he declared. "Don't they realize that some of us are bachelors?"

Alice decided to distract him and asked him to identify other people in the park and milling about the shops. He obliged grumpily, eventually going so far as to point out who owned the various shops, but the mayor did not appear. 

"So who are you in the novels?" Alice asked when the thought occurred to her.

"I’m filler in _Sanditon_."

"Sanditon?" she repeated. "But that novel was never finished." Alice had never bothered to read it.

"Are you implying I'm incomplete," he asked, his temper flaring, "that I am somehow not all there?"

Alice’s eyes grew wide. "No?" It seemed safer to lie.

He watched her carefully for a moment. "Very well," he continued. "I was a catalyst, much like you. I would flirt with the heroine, dance with her, be charming and nonthreatening, make the reader confused about who ends up with who, make the hero jealous enough to act. I live with my sister, in perpetuity. I don't actually get the girl, ever. That's why having to watch those two love birds --" he jerked his head in the direction of Fred and Kelly -- "go at it in public sticks in my craw."

Alice then kept him busy until the amorous picnickers had returned to work. When she saw that they were gone, she checked her watch and saw that it was after two o'clock.

She interrupted his latest character sketch to tell him that she needed to go. "I'm sorry we didn't see Mr. Darby but I've got to go and talk with Geoff from National Farmers about my car. Then I probably need to go to the garage and reason with Thorpe over his estimate. Maybe we can do this again. Next time I'll bring lunch."

"Why do you need to see Geoff?" he asked with intense interest.

"Because I can't afford to fix my car on my own, and I shouldn't have to. My insurance agent wants me to talk with a local agent. So who is Geoff, by the way, originally?"

"George Knightley," he replied. 

"And he and Emma Woodhouse are..." she prompted.

"Related by marriage but not particularly fond of each other."

"Really?" asked Alice. The pair had always seemed like best friends in the book. 

"They both excel in giving unsolicited advice. Emily can be really hands-on with the life-coaching. They had a major rift over the pizza place and haven't spoken to each other since."

"When was that?" Alice asked in spite of herself. She really needed to get going but she couldn't walk away.

"Five years ago, give or take." Tripp wasn't exactly sure time worked properly in Austenville but he had been nowhere else for comparison.

"But -" Alice sputtered. When did Mr. Knightley and Emma Woodhouse have a five year split? How was that even possible?

"I told you things were wrong here," Tripp reminded her. Quick as a flash he grabbed her wrist. "What do you say to fixing Geoff and Emily?"

Alice tried to free her wrist. "Aren't you worried that they'll end up like Officer Wentworth and Kelly, picnicking in the park?"

"Fred is a show off," said Tripp, loosening his hold until Alice could pull herself free. "I've played pickup basketball with him over the years, and he's skins every time. Geoff is more understated. He knows how to behave in public. So what do you say about Geoff and Emily?"

Alice was hesitant. "How would we do that?"

"Make him bring you to trivia night at Jennings’ bar tomorrow. If you are a catalyst like I am, that should be enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do YOU know who your author is?
> 
>  _he's skins every time_ \-- if you have a different head cannon of Frederick Wentworth, I urge you to reconsider.


	4. The Second Catalysis

Geoff Knightley recognized her as soon as she poked her head into his office. "Alice Parks, right?" he said, rising to greet her. He was solidly in his forties, well-groomed, and dressed in a suit and tie.

"How do you know who I am?" she asked guardedly.

"Simple deduction," he answered with a disarming grin. "Your agent Matt called earlier and told me to expect you, and you don't look like anyone I know in town."

Hearing that made Alice feel foolishly paranoid and she went about making herself feel at ease in his company. 

She shook his hand and took a seat, and they had a nice, boring chat about the extent of the damage to her car, what the insurance company was going to cover, and how much this was going to cost her, now and in the future.

"So I guess I need to take this over to the garage," she said at last, picking up a few sheets of paper from the desk. 

"I've already sent a copy to Jason. He knows what he can get away with, at least with us, but he may try to convince you to pay for additional work at your own expense," he told Alice. He really had been busy! "You should still go over there and let him know you've talked with me and will agree only to these approved fixes. I've done a lot of business with Jason over the years and I've never been dissatisfied with his work, but he tends to go above and beyond if you let him, if you know what I mean."

Alice nodded. "He tried to sell me heated seats, and when I declined, he offered to heat my seat the old fashioned way." She laughed because the pick-up line was more pathetic than scary, but she didn't want to spend more time with him than necessary.

The anecdote made Mr. Knightley a little nervous on her behalf. "Would you feel better if I came with you and spoke to Jason myself?" he said. "He may not realize that he's making you uncomfortable."

She decided to accept the offer rather than refuse a helping hand, and he walked with her over to the garage. The two of them talked with Jason Thorpe who seemed to mind his manners better in front of a male witness. 

The only part that got dicey was when Thorpe tried to get her to go to dinner with him. By then, it was 4:30 and Alice was starving, but she'd hide in her room at the Longbourn rather than accompany the mechanic to a restaurant.

She didn't need to invent an excuse, however, because Mr. Knightley stepped in. "Miss Parks is having dinner with me tonight," he announced. Alice tried to school her features so it didn't look like this was the first she had heard of it.

Thorpe asked where the two were going, which meant Alice could find out too. 

"Kohls, of course," the older man answered smoothly. "I like to treat all my new clients to a meal there."

Later, when it was just the two of them, he apologized for interfering, but he could see that Thorpe’s personal interest was unwelcome to her, Alice’s disinterest was unperceived by Thorpe. "I hope you don't mind," he finished. 

She decided the practical chivalry suited him, although it did make him feel more like one of her father's friends than someone she would know for his own sake.

"So dinner was a ruse?" she asked.

"Absolutely not!" he swore. "I realize you're not technically my client, but I still think of you as one. Are you hungry?"

Those were three magical words, reminding Alice that she hasn't eaten since breakfast if a hardboiled egg didn't count. "I'm starving," she answered. And if Tripp had wanted her to take a rain check for the next night at Jennings Bar, then he should have fed her a more substantial lunch earlier that day.

She headed directly to Longbourn to change into her one nice outfit and he soon brought his car to the front where she joined him after checking for messages from her brother. (One message: "@sea. Will call Fri")

She was determined to enjoy the meal and -- whether it was the excellent and plentiful food, or the glass of wine that made her feel more mature than with a bottle of beer, or the lighting and conversation that made her forget she was talking with an old man -- it was surprisingly easy.

He drove her back to the bed and breakfast and left her with some kind parting words. It had not exactly been a date, it was too rooted in commerce for that, and the age difference was insurmountable, but it had been a nice evening.

She waved as his car drove away then moved to let herself into the foyer of the bed and breakfast. 

"Do you know what day it is?" Tripp came from out of nowhere. He was angry, clearly, and the coffee would have spilled out of the cup in his hand had he not already drunk most of it. "I told you tomorrow. Tomorrow, not today! Now you've ruined it." 

Alice waited until her heart stopped thumping so loudly before she spoke. "It was just dinner," she said. 

"You don't get to date Mr. Knightley," he told her. "That is Emily Woodhouse's job, little Miss Doesn't Even Know Her Own Story."

"You thought that was a date?" she asked incredulously. "He offered to feed me and I was starving because you gave me exactly one egg to eat for lunch. What was I supposed to do?" 

"Tell him, 'Not tonight, I have a headache,' and then get him to offer to take you out tomorrow," he scolded. "I've already got Emily coming. What am I supposed to do all evening with her now?" 

"For your information, Geoffrey is taking me to trivia night tomorrow," she snapped back at him. "I sort of mentioned hearing about it over dinner and he invited me to go with him." 

At that piece of news, Tripp seemed to run out of argument. "You... you got him to come to Jennings tomorrow?" he asked in a normal -- albeit disbelieving -- tone.

"Yes, now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to not being yelled at." She turned to go.

"Wait, Alice." He put a hand on her shoulder. "You're going out two nights in a row with _the_ George Knightley. Are you sure you aren't falling in love with him?" 

Alice wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Ew, Tripp, no. I love the original Mr. Knightley but it is a lot easier to forget how old he is on the printed page. He's practically my dad's age. Good night, Tripp. I'll see you tomorrow at Jennings," she added to put an end to the conversation.

* * *

There was another text from her brother -- “Ur missing it” -- but nothing critical. She had a leisurely breakfast, a filling lunch, and an aimless stroll. She wanted to check on her car but worried that Thorpe would take it as encouragement. She sat on her bench in the town square and wondered at the stories of the passers-by. The experience was pleasantly Tripp-free.

Geoffrey picked her up at Longbourne and they walked the few blocks to the bar. Alice hadn't coordinated with Tripp beyond being there and she was relieved to find that the place was not large although there was a growing crowd.

They walked among the tables looking for two chairs when Alice caught sight of Tripp and the most attractive woman she had ever seen in person. Tripp looked much better than yesterday; not only did he look freshly showered and groomed but he was wearing clothes much more appropriate for the setting than a tank top and running shorts. He leaned toward the woman -- obviously Emma -- and made some comment. She smiled and shook her head. In that movement, she caught sight of Geoffrey and Alice. 

“Geoffrey!” she exclaimed, reaching for his hand. “What are you doing here?”

It was short work from there to introductions to being invited to join them at their table. The invitation emphatically did not include an offer to join their team, however. Emily was too competitive to share the glory of winning.

The foursome made a fun group. Each had their strengths and Alice’s youth and relative inexperience were offset by the fact that she had just graduated and all sorts of useless facts were still floating around in her head. Geoffrey was still the most knowledgeable on their little team but at least she didn't embarrass herself. 

It took no effort on her part but Alice noticed that Geoffrey and Emily gravitated towards each other. They had started with an awkward almost formality that slowly dissolved into an easy camaraderie. She caught Emily laughing loudly and genuinely to some stupid eye roll-worthy pun of Knightley’s and she looked at Tripp and smiled. They were doing it! They were bringing George Knightley and Emma Woodhouse together! Tripp winked back in acknowledgement.

During the break before the last round of questions, the two women slipped away to the restroom. As they stood in line awaiting their turn, Alice wracked her brain for something to say to further throw Emily at Geoffrey but it was the older woman who spoke first. 

“I haven't seen Geoffrey in ages but it seems like he's really having fun tonight,” she observed. 

“Yeah,” Alice agreed. “I'll have to take my parents to something like this the next time I visit them.” Before she could notice Emily’s moue, Alice asked, “So how long have you known Mr. Knightley?”

“All my life, of course,” she answered; “the curse of a small town is that everyone knows everyone. But we haven't really gotten together in years.” 

“Why not?” pried Alice. 

Emily sighed. “My friend Rita was dating a friend of Geoffrey’s and I thought this guy was a good rebound for Rita but not long-term boyfriend material. And then Robbie proposed, if you can believe it, and I convinced Rita to turn him down. And Geoffrey was mad at me for interfering.”

“And that was it?” concluded Alice. 

“No,” Emily shook her head ruefully. “Robbie eventually made this grand romantic gesture and Rita married him. And they've been happily married ever since.” 

“So why is Geoffrey still holding it against you? That seems pretty childish to me.”

“He isn't,” said Emily tightly.

Alice wrinkled her brow. “Then why are you?”

“I'm not,” Emily grit out and then claimed an open stall.

* * *

Back at the table, Emily was completely focused on the game, disconcertingly so. Upon winning, Emily congratulated herself and Tripp, she thanked Geoff warmly for the friendly competition, but her words to Alice were decidedly cooler. This frostiness continued as the game wrapped up and servers collected the game pads and empty glasses from the tables while settling accounts with everyone who was trying to leave.

When at last the foursome was ready to go, they all stood up and Geoffrey leaned in to Emily to quietly ask if everything was okay.

“I'm fine. It's fine,” she answered in a tired voice that maybe admitted she was not completely fine. “It's just… Can I talk with you? Privately?” 

Geoffrey’s eyes lit up with greater concern. “Sure,” he began, then stopped as he looked at his not-quite date for the evening.

“I'll wait outside?” offered Alice. 

“Nonsense!” said Tripp, draping his arm heavily across her shoulders. “I can walk a straight line from here to Longbourne. I'll escort you home.”

Tripp turned neatly, dragging Alice along with him. She started to protest but he snapped in her ear, “Shut up and keep walking, kid, or you'll ruin it.” 

Alice grudgingly complied but she _thought_ a lot of unpleasant things. 

Halfway back to her bed and breakfast, he complimented her. “Nice work in there. I don't know what happened in the restroom, but it was exactly what needed to happen.”

Alice shrugged and threw his arm from her shoulders. “I think I accidentally called Geoffrey old and Emily childish.”

Tripp looked momentarily horrified. “Well, I suppose they are, if you have no tact and don't really know what you're talking about,” he agreed at last. “Now let's run back to Longbourne and hide before Knightley shows up. I want to spy on him.”

He did not actually want to set foot inside the bed and breakfast. “At this hour?” he asked, appalled, when Alice invited him in. “What would people think if they found out? No. We're hiding in the alley.” She didn't see how that was any better but, with that, he pulled her with him to a slim alley across the street between the laundromat and the pharmacy where they could keep watch on Knightley’s car. 

Alice tried to start a conversation to pass the time but he shushed her repeatedly. Finally their waiting was rewarded as a sporty little convertible pulled into the spot next to Geoffrey’s. The engine turned off, and the car and its passengers just sat there. 

The top was down and Alice strained to hear their conversation but she could only catch incomprehensible sounds on the night air. 

The pantomime, however, was much easier to see. They talked, sometimes looking at each other, sometimes looking straight ahead. It all looked very serious and boring, and Alice wondered how much longer this would take. It probably wouldn't feel like it was taking forever if she was sitting down or if she could change position, but she was too afraid Emily would see the movement in her rearview mirror. 

Geoffrey leaned in to say something earnest and mature, no doubt, and Emily turned sharply away. Tripp hissed quietly in disapproval at the rejection. After a moment, Geoffrey unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car. 

He hadn't even shut the door when Emily flew out of her seat, repentant.

“Geoffrey, wait!” she cried, hurrying over to him. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry --” 

There was more to her apology but he caught her in his arms and she fell silent. Then he lowered his head until he kissed her, which was probably the best way to win an argument with Emily Woodhouse. Geoffrey wasn't a bad kisser, either, or so it looked to the spies in the alley. 

“Whoa Nelly,” Alice whispered as the Knightley and Woodhouse Show took this amorous turn. 

Tripp jabbed her in the ribs. It was a painfully effective way to shut her up. 

“What was that for?” she hissed when she had recovered her breath. 

“Just tell me when it's over,” he growled lowly, averting his eyes.

The couple in the street stayed there for a long time, holding each other, kissing, leaning against one car or the other. It went on for so long that even Alice began to feel like it was wrong to watch. 

Alice was eventually saved from spending the night in the alley when another car came down the block. It first caught the lovers in its headlights, then the driver blew his horn and yelled encouragement as he drove past. 

Emily and Geoffrey sprung apart at the noise, embarrassed to be caught like teenagers. Then Emily laughed and Geoffrey soon followed suit. It took them another fifteen minutes of long, drawn-out goodbyes but the show was effectively over.

At long last they got in their separate cars and drove away. 

“You can open your eyes now,” Alice told Tripp. “They're gone.” She began to wiggle and stretch. How long had they been stuck in the alley watching as one couple got their lives back on track? 

“Ugh. For the record, I am disgusted,” said Tripp. “One kiss -- yes, fine, whatever -- but that, that, that _marathon_ was completely uncalled for. I expected better behavior out of Knightley. That's it. I'm calling it a night.”

He walked out of the alley and started down the sidewalk.

“Wait!” Alice scurried after him. “Where are you going? What's next?”

“I am going home,” he called over his shoulder. “And next I'm going to sleep. I'll meet you for lunch tomorrow at my park bench.”

With that he left her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Another happy ending is back on track!


	5. Meeting the Mayor

Alice arrived early with a bagged sandwich and chips and settled herself on the bench to watch life in Austenville. 

Kelly was having another picnic lunch with Officer Fred in the shade of General Tilney’s statue. At the cafe across the square, Emily and Geoffrey sat at a little table and ate al fresco. Alice tried to imagine Tripp’s reaction to the entire city center filled with loving couples eating and snuggling.

As if conjured by her thoughts, Tripp dropped heavily next to her and grabbed the bag of food from her hands. Before she could form a coherent protest, he pulled out the sandwich and took a bite of it. 

She stared, wide eyed with shock and anger, while he chewed. “Thank you,” he murmured between bites. 

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “That's my lunch!”

“I said, ‘thank you,’" he reminded her with a mouthful of crumbs. He handed back the bag and told her she could finish the chips. “Besides,” he pointed out, “I brought lunch last time. You owe me. You even said so.”

Alice was too incensed to argue. She would have stalked off to find more food had Tripp not asked her if she was ready for the next challenge. 

“Does it involve me eating lunch?” she sulked.

“Don't be daft,” he told her. “We're on a mission. You've got to focus: we have a wedding to ruin, a woman to find, and a town to save.”

Alice didn't think clearly on an empty stomach, or politely either. “So what's next? We go door to door asking for Elizabeth?”

“That obviously won't work,” he said from the vantage point of having already eaten. “Nelly tried that years ago. Look what it got her. Tackling the problem head-on is not always the safest course. We need to sneak up on it from behind and waylay it.” 

Alice remembered that his sister had died. It sobered and softened her. “Then we just help people fall in love with their soul mates? If we get a critical mass of romance then Elizabeth will appear?”

Tripp didn't answer. He was thinking of other things. 

Alice sighed. In the past three days she had rescued characters from _Persuasion_ and _Emma_. She was still no closer to knowing what had happened to Elizabeth Bennet, but there had to be plenty of romantic couples in need of a catalyst. 

“What about _Northanger Abbey_?” she suggested. 

“They're not ready yet,” said Tripp dismissively. “Tilney won't be home from college for a few weeks and Catherine Morland --” he shuddered at the thought. “Catherine is a high school sophomore, in a totally Goth phase, and insists that everyone calls her ‘Trinity’.”

Alice found herself agreeing with Tripp on that idea. “Well, what about _Mansfield Park_?”

“Eddie Bertram is already married to Marissa and works for his dad. He's much too straight-laced to start anything with Lois Price.”

Alice remembered Lois as the mousy bank teller she had met in the public safety office. “Well, at least her name isn't Fanny in this world,” she opined. 

“Really?” Tripp doubted her. “You really think it was better for her, coming from a poor family, to be saddled with the nickname ‘Lowest Price’? Were you home-schooled that you didn't have to endure playground taunts?”

Alice didn't know what annoyed her more -- teasing children or Tripp. “Fine, then! You pick the couple.”

"Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley,” he said without a pause for thought. “Putting those two on the right path should also bring us closer to finding Jane’s sister Elizabeth.”

“Who's Jane Bennet in Austenville?” Alice asked after failing to think of a caustic retort.

“You've met her,” said Tripp. “Jenny Mason, from Sweet Nothings.”

Alice suddenly realized that Jenny the barista was the perfect, most obvious Jane Bennet. “So who is Bingley then? If Darcy's the mayor, does Bingley also work at City Hall?”

He eyed her skeptically. “You're not secretly a bigot, are you?”

“Is Bingley black?” she guessed. She didn't think interracial dating was a big deal but she had not noticed any people of color in town. But that might be because Jane Austen had hardly met with any, or it might be because this was a small town in New England. Maybe an interracial couple would be quite shocking for this little town.

Tripp scoffed at the notion. “Have you read a more blonde person in your life? No, Charles Bingley isn't black. She is as pasty white as you are and she is secretly a lesbian.”

Alice thought that she was progressive but this still took some time to wrap her head around. “Charles Bingley is a woman?” she said.

Tripp nodded. “Her name is Charlotte Singer but she goes by Lottie. She and Darby’s fiancée are twins; not identical but they look it.”

“And she's secretly attracted to women?”

Now he looked annoyed. “How else does she fall in love with Jenny?”

“And Jenny's also secretly gay?” She felt stupid for asking. 

“No. Jenny's bi. Everybody knows that,” he told her. “She came out, like, five years ago. It's old news.”

Alice gritted her teeth. “But nobody knows Lottie is gay?”

“The curse of the small town is that everybody knows everybody else, but it doesn't naturally follow that they know everything _about_ everyone,” he lectured, as if he hadn't just told her that the whole town already knew about Jenny. “It's hardly common knowledge that Lottie plays for the other team, but perhaps her family knows. She may have even confided in the mayor for all I know.”

Something Tripp said struck her as odd or important. “What did you say?” she asked, trying to replay his words.

“I said --“ he leaned forward to shout clearly at her -- “ _are you deaf <\i>?”_

__

__

In her anger she shoved him so hard he nearly flew off the bench, falling on the ground and almost tripping two women who were innocently walking through the public green space. 

Alice was momentarily frozen with mortification and dread. The two women stared down at Tripp, both alike enough in appearance that they could be sisters but one wore a look of aggrieved affront while the other looked genuinely concerned. 

“Oh my goodness!” said the kind-looking one. “Tripp, are you alright?”

She bent down to help him as he was already springing to his feet.

Alice dashed over from the bench, achingly apologetic. “I am so sorry,” she began.

“Never mind,” said the one who looked royally displeased. “We're all used to Tripp’s eccentricities.” She glared at him, not even looking at Alice. 

“The curse of a small town,” Alice said with a shaky grin. Tripp had said those exact words. So had Anne Elliot and Emma Woodhouse. It was impossible that this place could exist, created from literary works 200 years old, but how else to explain it other than magic, or a curse?

The critical woman looked at her for the first time and Alice fought the urge to flinch.

“I've always thought of it as a blessing, living in a small town, to be so close-knit,” said the other sister before Alice could hear something rude or condescending. “We all know each other, and we all take care of each other. Of course, a big city can be quite fun with something to see and do at all hours, and I've always found lots of friendly people wherever I go, but my heart belongs in the small town.”

As if Alice couldn't guess who this was, the woman cocked her head to one side and looked Alice up and down. “I don't believe we've met before,” she said, extending her hand. “I'm Lottie Singer. Welcome to Austenville”

Alice shook hands with Bingley and introduced herself. 

“Ah, yes,” Lottie nodded, “the girl with car trouble. Chris in public safety told me about you.”

Dr. Carol Singer listened intently with no interest in meeting Alice herself. “What are you talking about?” she asked her sister. “What car trouble? Who is this? When did she get here? Why didn't anyone tell me?”

Alice thought it was a little past creepy that Dr Carol expected to know so much, but Lottie just laughed. “Come on, Sis! You're planning the wedding of the century. You've got more important things to think about.”

Without waiting for a riposte, Lottie turned back to Alice. “All things considered, we hope you’re enjoying your stay here.”

Alice’s head was nearly spinning from the change in temperature between the frostiness of one sister and the warmth of the other. She nodded mutely before finding the words to reply. “It's actually been a lot better than I thought it would be. It'll be a shame when I can leave but my brother needs me to come to Maine.”

“Well, maybe you and your brother can come back once you're done with Maine,” suggested Lottie. “Summer in Austenville is the best.”

“There's not going to be a summer in Austenville this year,” Tripp said suddenly. “There's never a summer here.”

“And how are you doing, Tripp?” asked the doctor. “You have skipped your last few appointments.”

“Don't worry about me. I've been taking my pills,” he sulked.

“Still,” Dr. Carol said, “I'd like to see you again.”

Tripp snorted and rolled his eyes. “What would the mayor say?” 

Carol Singer glared at him, but she hadn't really stopped glaring since Alice met her. She slipped a fashionable and commodious tote bag off her shoulder and gave it to Lottie. She then pulled a toy pinwheel out of her designer purse. It was red and white and shiny. She blew on it and the pinwheel began to spin. The colors swirled and flashed in the afternoon sun. 

Alice could barely look away. She glanced at Tripp who was mesmerized by the toy; even Lottie found it fascinating. 

“Tripp, why don't you come with me right now?” suggested the doctor. “You can tell me all about how you've been keeping yourself the last month.”

His upper lip curled in a sneer but he couldn't say no. 

“Can you take my wedding bag to Gerry while I take care of this?” Carol quietly asked her sister. “Tell him no peeking. And you can get to know Miss Parks better.” She smiled at Alice but it didn't reach her eyes. “Come along now,” she said to Tripp.

He followed behind her sullenly but kept his eyes on the spinning pinwheel. She led him away like the pied piper.

When they were gone, Lottie shrugged and sighed. “I hate that toy,” she said quietly.

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Alice belatedly.

Lottie sighed again. “He will be. He just needs a little help and understanding. As I said, we look after each other in a small town. Put him in a big city and he'd be homeless within a week.”

“He went off when his sister died?” Alice repeated what she had been told.

“He was always a little off, to be honest, but it was more manageable before Nelly died. She could keep him in line better than anyone else.”

Lottie hefted the tote bag. “I've got to take this to City Hall,” she said. “You're welcome to come with if you want, but don't feel obligated.”

Alice didn't want to stay with Lottie to thwart Carol’s request, but she had to stay close enough to bring Lottie and Jenny together. She agreed for lack of a cleverer thing to do.

.o8o.

Lottie kept up a running commentary on the walk, going over the history of Austenville and some of the buildings and families. She led Alice up the steps and through a maze of hallways before knocking on a door that belonged to Gail Reynolds -- naturally, thought Alice -- and introducing the two.

“I've got to give this to Gerry,” said Lottie to the administrative assistant. “Is he in, or can I just dump it in his office?”

“He's in” Mrs. Reynolds said with a jerk of her head. “And he just got off the phone with Councilwoman Ferris. She was trying to get a job for her son Rory.”

“But Rory doesn't want to work for the city,” Lottie pointed out.

“That hardly matters to his mother,” came the tart reply. “Not after she heard about Councilman Tilney’s son.”

“But why did you let her talk to him? You know he can't stand her. She should be talking with me anyway; I'm the city manager.”

“She didn't go through me,” Mrs. Reynolds defended herself. “ _Someone_ gave Edna his cell phone number, and I'll let you guess whether or not I blame your sister.”

Lottie grimaced. “Why don't you sit out here while I drop this off?” she offered to Alice. “He's not typically good with first impressions and a call from Edna Ferris won't improve his disposition.”

Alice sat on an uncomfortable sofa and waited while Mrs. Reynolds returned to her computer screen. They could clearly hear the conversation through the open door as Lottie greeted the mayor and gave him the tote bag filled with wedding plans. 

“Carol said to tell you not to peek,” she added.

“Why on earth would she think I'd want to do that?” he grumbled back. Unable to swoon properly at the sound of his voice, Alice still found herself sinking lower into the couch cushions; if that wasn't Fitzwilliam Darcy, none of this made any sense. “I should never have agreed to this mess.”

“I'm sure things will return to normal after the wedding,” soothed Lottie. “You know she just wants it to go perfectly. You're both obsessed with details, you know.”

There was an ominous silence then Lottie laughed at him. 

“I gotta go,” she said. “I'm giving an impromptu tour but I'll call Edna when I'm done.”

“Who needs a tour?” he wondered.

“Alice Parks,” answered Lottie. “She's the one whose car hit Nelly's tree.”

“The idiot college student who can't drive?” He was not impressed.

“Okay, (A) her official statement is that she left her car when it ran out of gas; (B) Thorpe detected signs of tampering with the ignition, and the driver’s door lock is broken; (C) I've met her and she doesn't have any bruises or cuts on her face and arms from being in an accident; and (D),” Lottie concluded, “she's in the next room and can hear you.”

Alice could barely hear him groaning in embarrassment over the sound of her own furious blushing. 

“Just sit tight,” Lottie said. “I've already warned her that you're not immediately likeable. Let me clean this up. Besides, you know what happened in California --”

Whatever Lottie was referring to made a deep impression on the mayor. Alice could hear him scrambling to get up and move. She saw his head poke out of his office and look around. Again she felt herself sinking deeper into the cushions, he was just that attractive.

His natural beauty was momentarily enhanced by the look of hopeful expectation on his face before he saw Alice and his face betrayed a crushing disappointment. He muttered an inconsequential apology then backed up and tried to shut the door.

Lottie intercepted him and pushed him into the waiting room. At a certain point, Gerry Darby needed to clean up his own messes.

He muttered another apology and extended his hand. “Hello Miss Parks. I'm Mayor Fitzgerald Darby. Welcome to Austenville.”

Alice didn't get up -- her knees were a little weak -- but she did shake hands with him and gush an incomprehensible, “You too,” before he excused himself and retreated into his office. She distinctly heard him lock the door.

“So that was Gerry,” said Lottie with a small flourish of her hands. “Family and money aside, he wouldn't get half as far if he wasn't so good looking.” She had recognized Alice’s reaction for what it was. “Who knows what will happen when he marries my sister and is off the market for good? Are you ready for the most epic tour you've ever been on? I don't want to call Councilwoman Ferris right now.”


	6. The Third Catalysis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember Anne Darby who didn't know where the nearest gas station was in the first chapter because she has vertigo and just gets her cousin Gerry to drive her? Gerry is of course Mr. Darcy.
> 
> And as Bingley isn't exactly out, there's no quasi public kissing scene for someone else to observe, unlike the first two couples.

Charlotte Singer was a superlative guide but eventually Alice asked her how she had ended up working as the city manager. 

“That's a long, sad story,” she laughed, then elaborated. “I had a summer internship lined up after my senior year in undergrad. It was with a big-name PR firm in New York. I was so excited about it, and my parents were really proud of me, and then the firm retracted their offer.”

“Oh no!” Alice gasped in sympathy.

“It was too late to get in anywhere else,” continued Lottie, “so Mom said, ‘Come home.’ I did but I knew I couldn't just sit around all summer so I offered my services to Jack Willoughby who was the city manager at the time. He took me in and my job was all-around dogsbody. It was a horrible job but I loved it. People would come into the office everyday and ask me questions or give me problems, and I'd have to come up with some solution. And I was good at it; Jack was very impressed with my work. And I met Gerry, who was also impressed. Jack invited me to come back the next summer but I just knew it wasn't going to happen. And in the fall I left to get my MBA.”

She paused to check her listener’s interest. Alice stared back expectantly.

“But then old Jack Willoughby got himself arrested. I wasn’t in town at the time but it was a big deal. Huge scandal! Anyway, Gerry Darby got promoted to city manager, and he called me up that night and made me an offer. I finished my degree in the spring and moved home. Ta-da!”

Alice waited for more, but there was nothing forthcoming. “That's it?” she asked. “But that's the story of how Mayor Darby became city manager.”

Her tour guide nodded. “Yes. No. But I wanted to show you this first.”

They were standing in one of many nondescript corridors. Lining one side was a series of portraits, mostly men. Alice recognized the first one immediately as Fitzgerald Darby. 

“Dad was a little disappointed that I took a job with the city rather than starting my own business or joining him and my brother Lewis in the family business but I couldn't figure out what else we needed in Austenville. Besides, if I didn't like it, I would have found something else to do. Anyway, that was a golden age. Gerry is an excellent manager but he hates talking to people; I love talking to people but I needed to develop my management skills. We were for the most part unstoppable, winning governance awards left and right, speaking at conferences, getting interviewed by national papers, the works.

“Then tragedy struck,” she said. “Gerry and I were at a conference in Los Angeles. Gerry was being his usual self -- don't get me wrong. I love the guy like a brother, and I am super excited that he's going to literally be my brother-in-law, but he can be a little off-putting at first. He really stepped in it with this woman and I was about to go and apologize to her on his behalf when my sister called.”

“So what happened to the woman in Los Angeles?” Alice asked during the dramatic pause.

“Her? I have no idea. She's unimportant. Forget about her. My _sister_ \--” Lottie returned to the subject of interest -- “called to say that Gerry’s aunt had died.”

At that she took a big step so that she was standing in front of the next mayoral portrait. Alice scurried to keep up.

“Who --” Alice began then stopped. She leaned forward to read the name carved into the plaque at the bottom of the frame: _Catherine Darby._

“Mayor Darby’s aunt Catherine was also Mayor Darby?”

“Her death was unexpected,” said Lottie. “She was always full of curiosity and opinions. I swore she had eyes in the back of her head. She was old but she never showed any signs of slowing down, although she did get a little erratic at the very end.”

Alice was too curious to act otherwise, and prompted her storyteller.

“She didn't want Gerry to go to L.A. with me. At all. And she called him like ten times the night she died and left weird voicemail messages. He let me listen to them as we traveled home and it was just so strange.”

“How did she die?”

“She fell down the stairs at home, one of those mansions with extra high ceilings, so more like a story-and-a-half per floor. Carol was completely freaked out on the phone.”

“Was she there?” Alice asked. Had Dr. Singer been looking after her boyfriend’s family in his absence?

“Oddly enough, yes. Catherine hadn't been feeling well and she insisted that Dr. Perry make a housecall that night. Perry couldn't make it so he sent Carol instead, which should give you some idea of what Perry thought about the mayor's request,” said Lottie. And it probably did make sense if Alice knew the people better. “And Carol walked into the mansion to find the mayor dead at the foot of the stairs. She called 9-1-1 even though it was too late, but it took them over an hour to get to the mansion.”

Alice gasped.

“After everyone calmed down, Perry and Carol decided it was probably one or more little strokes, especially after hearing Gerry’s voicemails.” Lottie shook her head sadly. “That was a bad night for Austenville. Nelly Haber died the same night.”

“Nelly Haber?” she repeated.

“Yeah, Tripp’s sister,” Lottie supplied. “She's the reason the ambulance was late to the mayor's; we only have one ambulance and, quite frankly, according to Carol, Mayor Catherine was beyond help by then.”

Alice shuddered in response to the story.

“There is a silver lining,” soothed Lottie. “The tragedy brought Gerry and Carol together in ways I never could. They grew closer and eventually started dating.

“But anyway,” the city manager shook her head and started walking again, “we left L.A. on the first available flight home and I had to convince Gerry to run for mayor the whole time. He didn't want to do it but, from my perspective, he was the best choice. In the end, he agreed, but only after I promised to take the role of city manager and do all the public face stuff that he can't stand. 

“And that is how I became city manager: a story of failed dreams, scandal, and death!” she concluded with another flourish. “Although, once Gerry marries Carol, he may get out more. My sister may not give him a choice.”

“Your sister would force him into the spotlight?”

Lottie made a face as they started walking again, headed toward the exit of the building. “He's the mayor, not the local Illuminati; he's not allowed to govern from the shadows. As for Carol, well, she's been a bit much lately, but I think it's just wedding stress. I'm sure she'll calm down after the honeymoon.”

Alice was a little too young to have many close friends who had married, but she had seen that sort of woman on television and in movies. “Bridezilla?”

Lottie laughed. “Yeah, a bit,” she agreed. “We just got back from the florist who has been working hard to find roses just the right shade of red. Carol’s dress has this red sash and she wants the roses in our bouquets to match it exactly. It's driving Peggy up the wall.”

“Maybe she should get white roses and just paint them the right shade of red,” suggested Alice.

Lottie laughed harder and led Alice back into the town square. “I actually mentioned that. She nearly bit my head off.”

The two paused near the statue of General Tilney. Lottie extended her hand again. “Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in our town, and I hope you'll be able to talk your brother into coming here with you later this summer. It will be a great time, trust me.”

Alice found herself smiling. “What stuff do you have planned?”

“Well, Independence Day is a big holiday. We have people dress up in costume and reenact a revolutionary battle here, and there are fireworks and a few carnival rides,” said Lottie. “But really, we have things going on every week. We hang up a big sheet in front of city hall and show movies on Friday nights.” She paused to throw up her hands in front of city hall as if to draw the screen.

“We have bike rides, walking trails, and scavenger hunts,” she continued. “We have a frequent shopper card with which you can earn points for a free t-shirt with an annual logo designed by a local artist. There's an ice cream social every Sunday with discounted ice cream from Thornton Lacey Creamery. Jennings Bar has trivia contests practically every night.” By now Lottie was ticking off the activities on her fingers, moving a few steps in different directions toward the various shops she was talking about.

Alice's stomach grumbled loudly. She covered it in embarrassment. “Tripp stole my lunch,” she explained sheepishly. “I'm actually starving right now.”

“He stole it?” she looked alarmed. 

“Not like that!” Alice clarified. “He thought I had bought it for him when he took it. It was just a sandwich, no big deal.”

Lottie was still distressed. “It's a good thing Carol ran into him. Here, let me buy your lunch. It's the least we can do,” she offered.

Alice was about to say that was unnecessary but stopped herself. “Okay,” she said instead. “Yeah, that'd be great.” 

The two women set off in a direction away from Lottie's desk and her phone call to councilwoman Ferris. 

“So where to?” asked Lottie as they crossed the street and left the public square.

“Sweet Nothings,” Alice answered unequivocally. 

Lottie slowed her steps and tried briefly to suggest a different place. “Are you sure you're not in the mood for pizza? Martin's makes the best.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Alice smiled, trying not to link arms with the city manager to better drag her down the street. “Is there any way I can get one of those t-shirt punch cards this week? I promise not to turn it in until I see my brother.”

Lottie focused on the question at hand and allowed herself to be brought to the sandwich shop, but when they reached the door she dug in her heels.

“It looks like nobody's home,” she pointed to a handwritten sign that read, “We’ll be right back!” “How about that pizza?” she said.

“Hi Jenny,” Alice said instead as she watched the barista return to work.

“Hello Alice,” she greeted, fishing her key chain out of her purse to unlock the door. “Charlotte Singer, long time, no see.” Did Alice just imagine the tightness in Jenny’s voice?

“Ha, yeah, well, perfectly good explanation,” Lottie replied nervously. “Tripp stole her lunch, so I'm buying her a new one.”

In an instant, their shared concern for a mutual acquaintance cut through the awkwardness. “He did what?”

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Alice said.

“I know, right?” Lottie spoke over her as if Alice wasn’t there. “Do you think he's getting enough to eat these days?”

Jenny pushed open the door and the other two followed her inside. “I offer him a soup or sandwich everyday, but mostly he just wants coffee. Do you know if Norland’s still gives him free groceries?”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Francesca Daschle won't lend a hand to her own husband's family. Why would she help the town drunk?” She shook her head, deflatedly. “I'll talk with Rich and see what's going on. In the meantime, a sandwich for Miss Parks, if you please.”

“Same as earlier?” Jenny asked. 

Alice suddenly realized she was back in the conversation, like a prop or plot device. She nodded.

“My treat,” announced Lottie. Alice might be back in the conversation but only with a nonspeaking role.

Jenny laughed and grabbed another prepared sandwich from behind her counter. “No, it's not,” she disagreed as she put the sandwich in a panini press to toast the bread and melt the cheese. “If Tripp did eat the first one, then I ought to refund her, so we'll just call it even if I let Alice have the next one for free. And besides, your money's no good here, Lottie. You'd know that if you stopped in once in a while. I don't even understand why you're here now.” 

“Oh, you know me. This is a classic Lottie Singer conflict avoidance technique,” she grimaced, thinking of Councilwoman Ferris. “There's someone I don't want to talk to, so I am doing literally anything to avoid her.”

Lottie’s eyes widened as she realized what she said, and to whom. Jenny's mouth pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. Silence stretched out awkwardly while the panini press did its job. 

Alice racked her brain for a peacemaking remark. “Lottie was just telling me about all the activities planned for summer in town. What does Sweet Nothings get involved in?” 

It had seemed like an innocuous topic that would lead to fewer tensions but Alice's question had the opposite effect. Lottie looked even more stricken and the line of Jenny's mouth became a more pronounced frown. Then Jenny shook herself and moved to watch the sandwich carefully so it would not get too hot. 

“My shop and I have actually never been formally invited to participate in Summer at Austenville,” she said as dispassionately as possible.

“You can't blame that on me,” Lottie at last spoke in her defense. “You know the city manager is not responsible for making those decisions.”

Jenny took the sandwich out of the press and handed it to Alice who accepted with barely audible thanks.

“It has always been a mystery to me what decisions you take responsibility for,” Jenny snapped. “But I suppose as long as you're happy with the outcome, it doesn't matter who gets the credit.”

Lottie turned bright red. “That is not what happened,” she spoke in a strangled voice, pressing her hands to the counter. 

“Then what did happen, Lottie?” Jenny demanded. “Because I was standing right there and I still don't get it.”

Alice’s stomach grumbled again and attracted everyone’s attention. Seeing two sets of eyes on her, she backed to the door. “I'll just take this with me to Longbourn,” she announced, knocking the bell on her way out, leaving the “We’ll be right back!” sign facing the street to discourage other customers.

Alice wasn't completely sure what she had witnessed, whether she had brought the couple back together or further apart. She tried to put it in perspective with the reconciliation she had witnessed between Emily Woodhouse and Geoff Knightley last night. She was more than half-tempted to sneak across the street and spy on the two in Sweet Nothings from the laundromat, but she could see a squad car parked in front of it and imagined Officer Fred would not appreciate Alice's snooping. 

There was nothing to do for the moment but go back to the bed and breakfast and finally eat her lunch, which she consumed post haste upon reaching the breakfast room, taking advantage of the napkins there. 

_Now what?_ she asked herself as she nibbled on the last bit of crust, then decided more characters needed rescuing, and the whole town in general needed saving. She could probably manage one or two more before Jason Thorpe finished repairs. Anne Elliot and Fred Wentworth were doing well, and Emma Woodhouse and George Knightley looked quite content at lunch today. Alice supposed she needed to go to the square at lunch tomorrow to see if Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley were back together. 

Who did that leave? 

Tripp had told her that Catherine Morland and Henry Tilney were too young, and Edmund Bertram was too married, but that left both Elinor and Marianne Dashwood. Was it Lottie who mentioned something about _Daschles_ , and Norland? The way she talked about it, Norland sounded like a grocery store. And there was Colonel Brandon in the police department. Maybe they would be next on her list. 

Alice had no sooner finished her sandwich when Mrs. Bennet bustled in. She was unpleasantly surprised to find someone making a mess at one of her tables, and hid it imperfectly.

“Alice!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Alice apologized and swept up her crumbs. “I'll clean up the mess,” she offered.

“Oh, it's no trouble,” lied Mrs. Bennet brightly, “but weren't you going out for lunch?”

“It was a miscommunication,” she shrugged. Then she decided to do some sleuthing. “Is there a grocery store around here?”

“You're not thinking of keeping food in your room, are you?” the proprietress asked warily.

“Just a few snack bars I can take with me around town,” Alice quickly supplied. “So I don't get too hungry between meals. I didn't care for the selection at the drugstore.”

Mrs. Bennet looked like she was giving away information that would come back to haunt her. “You want Norland’s. It's on -- Street, about a ten minute walk from here.”

“Norland’s?” she repeated. “Is that a local chain? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s owned by the Daschle family,” volunteered the busybody. “Although…” she trailed off. 

“What? Although what?” Alice didn’t even have to pretend to be interested.

“It used to be owned by Ian Daschle but the whole store and everything in it went to his brother Rich when he died,” Mrs. Bennet answered. “Ian’s wife and daughters didn’t get a penny of it.”

Alice knew the plot went like this, but it still seemed ridiculous in a modern setting. “How is that even possible?”

“Lawyers,” Mrs. Bennet spat. “It’s always the lawyers’ fault. If my ex-husband didn’t have such a fancy lawyer, I wouldn’t be stuck here, I can tell you that!”

As fascinating as _that_ story might be, it was a distraction that Alice could ill afford. “What happened to the daughters?”

“One is a hippy artist and one is a lawyer. Had they gotten professional help rather than trying to handle it on their own, they might have gotten more out of their father’s business than just the shirts on their backs,” Mrs. Bennet rolled her eyes in derision. “And the third sister runs the flower shop.”

“So what kind of artist is the one sister?” Alice asked, guessing that would be Marianne Dashwood. 

Mrs. Bennet shrugged dismissively. “Any kind of art you can do while high. Mostly she draws things that end up in newspapers or magazines.”

“So how does she know Chief Brandon?” Alice hoped her landlady wouldn't think she was being too quick. 

“Chris Brandon is in love with her sister, the lawyer.” Mrs. Bennet knew no secrets worth keeping. Alice tried to contain her shock. “They got to know each other after Ian died and then really started working together when the city manager‘s dirty laundry got dragged out of the closet. Everyone expected something to come of it, but blood is thicker than water. You see, Jack -- that's the old city manager -- was dating Rita, the artist sister, except he wasn't just with her, if you follow my meaning.” Mrs. Bennet raised her eyebrows significantly but Alice was glad she already knew the plot. 

“He was cheating on her,” Alice supplied.

“With Chris Brandon's 16-year-old niece,” Mrs. Bennet elaborated. It had never seemed as seedy as now, to think of John Willoughby’s crimes starting at pedophilia. “Chris showed no mercy to Jack, in a legal sense. Rita blamed Chris for what happened to Jack, and Ella --” here Mrs. Bennet rolled her eyes as if she was fed up with the juvenile antics -- “dropped Chris in the friend-zone. It’s such a waste! If I didn’t have my daughter to remind people of how old I am, I’d have a go at him, myself. Unfortunately, like my ex, he prefers younger women.” That last bit was said with understandable bitterness. 

Okay, Alice was not going to get involved in the Bennets’ divorce. She had always thought that couple had been deeply flawed and wasn’t surprised that a modern version of them had terminated an unhappy marriage. 

“So Rita blames Chris Brandon rather than Jack Willoughby? That’s messed up,” Alice judged honestly. But Col. Brandon wasn’t in love with Elinor Dashwood; he was in love with Marianne. “But Chris is in love with Mari -- Rita,” she blurted out. 

“Oh he is, is he?” Mrs. Bennet looked amused. “What makes you think that?”

Alice couldn’t admit she had read this story in high school so she settled on a believable lie. “I overheard something when I was at the police station.” 

“It’s the Public Safety Office,” corrected the landlady but Alice could already see the wheels turning in her brain. “No wonder Chris has never made a move on Ella after all that time,” she said at last. “That actually explains a lot.”

Alice retired to her room, content that the seed she had planted with Mrs. Bennet would bear fruit. 


	7. The Unexpected

As Alice leaned back on the bed, luxuriating in the sensation of satiety, her phone rang. It was such an unexpected sound that she jumped, then fumbled to fish it out of her pocket. Her brother’s picture flashed on the screen as she stabbed at the button to accept the call. 

“Dean!” she yelped. 

“Alice!” he replied through a fog of static. 

They shouted back and forth through a conversation that was really nothing more than duelling monologues. Dean was alive, and well. He was in Maine with a new girlfriend and wanted Alice to come up and meet her, join her family for an extended weekend party. “They --- a yacht!” he called out to her between bursts of static. “You should --- it!” 

She tried talking about her car, but he wasn’t listening, not really, so there was no point in trying to go into detail. The only time he paid attention to her was when he asked her when she was going to join him. “Wednesday at the earliest,” she told him. 

“Are you ---?” he cried. “This invitation from the --- is not open-ended. If you don’t --- up by ---, don’t bother coming.” 

“If you want me there so badly, come and get me,” she told him, enunciating clearly. “I’m stuck here until my car is fixed.” 

There was a final shower of static at his reply, then her phone dropped the call. She sighed and dropped the phone on the bed in frustration. She was trapped here for the duration. 

_Now what?_ she sighed. She wondered what had happened to Tripp. After Dr. Singer had led him away, she hadn’t run into him again. Maybe he too would be at the square at lunch the next day, scowling at all the romantic happiness he was trying to arrange. 

With no pre-planned rendezvous, she decided that there was no point wandering around looking for her favorite vagrant. She’d find him tomorrow. In the meantime, maybe she’d take a nap, and then stop by Thornton Lacey Creamery to have ice cream for dinner. 

* * *

She awoke hours later. The sky outside her window was darkening with twilight. As she stood up to stretch, she noticed a scrap of paper that had been shoved under her door. She picked it up and read it: _Meet me at Nelly’s tree, 9 p.m._ Tripp hadn’t bothered to sign it, but who else could it be? 

So, change of plans: she was going for an evening stroll. But first, she still wanted ice cream. 

Licking her cone, Alice stopped by the drug store and bought a flashlight and batteries, then started walking. When the street lights stopped, she turned on the flashlight and kept going. She had tried to remember how long it had taken her to walk from her car to town the first time, but then figured it would take her longer at night as she walked slower to avoid tripping over hazards in the dark. 

Alice wondered if she would even recognize Nelly’s tree at night. Had she even bothered to study it when her car was smashed into it? All she had been looking at was the car. 

She reminded herself that Tripp would be waiting for her, so he would call out to her or stop her if she tried to keep walking. Then she made a mental note to get his phone number so they could text next time he had something mysterious to tell her. Then she wondered if he even had a phone. 

After a half-hour’s walk, it was clearly past 9 o’clock and she had seen no sign of Tripp or his sister’s tree. She was on the verge of being very seriously worried and ready to turn back when the beam of her flashlight slipped over a body. 

She gasped, nearly screamed, and almost jumped out of her shoes. Upon review, it wasn’t a dead body, but rather just Tripp, sleeping at the base of a tree. 

Once her heart rate began to slow, she tapped him with her shoe and shined the light on his face. “Wake up!” she scolded him. 

He groaned and threw his hand up to block the light but he moved with a lethargy that didn’t bode well. 

“What happened to you?” she asked, crouching down to be closer to his level, lowering the beam of light from his eyes. “Why did you want to meet out here? You look awful.” 

He didn’t articulate a reply, but groaned again and rolled over, away from the light. 

“Come on, get up,” she said, tugging his arm and pulling him to his feet. He was nearly a dead weight and as she got nearer to him she could smell alcohol and other things coming off of him in waves. 

There was no way she could carry him the distance back to town so she stood there, nearly buckling under his unsteady weight, as she thought of what to do. Maybe she could guide him as far as the sidewalk and then leave him behind while she travelled alone and faster to the police station. Maybe Fred Wentworth would be on a date with Kelly Lynch, leaving the helpful Will Price to deal with Tripp's inebriation. 

She started walking, lugging her drunk friend behind her. He tried to say something but, after failing to make sense of the first few strings of gibberish, Alice gave up trying to understand or even listen to him. He could explain himself when he had sobered up. 

She was beginning to think that a single scoop of ice cream was insufficient indulgence to offset the exercise of bringing Tripp back to town when she noticed a beam of headlights coming toward them. 

“Oh, thank god,” she muttered, leaving Tripp to sway on his own as she stepped forward to flag down the approaching car. Even if the driver didn't want to give Alice and Tripp a ride back to town, they could certainly get word back for someone to come rescue them. 

“Hey!” Alice shouted, waving both hands as the car drew closer. The driver should've been able to see her by now. The driver should've started slowing down by now. 

A spike of fear sent her jumping into the ditch as the car actually accelerated. Tripp, standing dead on his feet a few yards behind her, was unaware of his peril. 

Alice had enough time to twist around and call his name before watching the car strike him. Then his body seemed to crumple over the hood of the car, sliding forward to the windshield and then off to the driver’s side where he rolled limply like a rag doll across the asphalt. 

The car’s brake lights blazed to life finally and it screeched to a halt. 

Alice scrambled back onto the road, shouting to Tripp, hoping he would answer her. He had just been hit by a car! Should she move him? Could she at least check if he was still breathing, if he was still conscious? 

A quick glance over her shoulder showed the driver and passenger getting out of the car. 

“He's still alive! Call 9-1-1!” she called out after seeing his chest move up and down in quick, panting breaths. “It's okay, Tripp. We're going to get you to a doctor,” she said quietly. 

A gruesome chuckle came from behind her. “Oh, don't worry. The doctor's already here.” 

Alice 's eyes darted up just in time to see the figure of Carol Singer wielding a tire iron like a baseball bat. 

The threat never came to fruition. A hulking man who had also been in the car grabbed Alice by the throat, squeezing until her vision darkened and went black. 

* * *

She woke up some time later on a cot with a worried brown face hovering overhead. 

“Hello,” said the stranger with a trace of an English accent. “Do you remember your name?” 

“I'm Alice Parks,” came the easy response, but there were other things she clearly didn't know. “What happened? Where am I? What about Tripp?” 

“Tripp? Was that the young man you were with?” the stranger asked gently. “He's in the neighboring cell. Dr. Singer had to set his leg and apply a cast.” 

“His leg is broken!” Alice exclaimed. She attempted to get up but her body protested. “Ow!” she winced and lay back down. 

“There, there,” soothed her companion, easing Alice back down on the cot. “Of the two of you, you're in much better shape, but you still had quite an ordeal.” 

“What happened?” Alice repeated. “Where are we?” 

“Dr. Singer and William brought you in last night,” the woman explained. “Your friend was pretty hurt so the doctor focused on him, leaving you to William and me. I warn you that I don't have any formal medical training but William is a licensed nurse. You've just got some minor scratches and bruises for the most part. I can give you something for the headache, too, if you want.” 

Alice swallowed the pain medication. While she waited for it to take effect, she tried to take stock of the situation. “So we're at the hospital?” she asked. 

The woman laughed ruefully. “I wish!” she lamented. “This is a prison.” 

Alice’s eyes opened wide and she gaped. “What?” 

“Sorry, but I stand by my statement. This is a prison. Dr. Singer has held me here for a few months now and I'm losing track of the days.” The woman tried to smile but it was more of a grimace. “I was going crazy with only William to talk to -- the prat! -- but I didn't want anyone else to be stuck like me.” 

“Who are you?” asked Alice, feeling like this was momentous. 

“Oh good heavens, where are my manners? Deprive me of basic human companionship and all my social skills atrophy,” she rambled. “Miss Parks, how do you do? My name is Elizabeth Bennet.” 

Elizabeth Bennet? 

Alice stared stupidly. The woman before her was short and curvy, with frizzy brown hair and lively eyes. But she was Black -- no, African-American, Alice corrected herself. No, Elizabeth had an English accent; she couldn't be an anything-American. She was Black. 

And Charles Bingley was a lesbian, Alice reminded herself. And Edmund Bertram had apparently married the wrong girl. And Frederick Wentworth had joined the Coast Guard, and Marianne Dashwood was allegedly a recreational drug user. The characters that Alice knew were all wrong, except for the fact that she could still see through their disguises to their true selves. And their true selves were unchanged. 

John Thorpe still flirted with anything that moved. Anne Elliot had never stopped pining for her lost love. Col. Brandon justifiably loathed Willoughby. Emma Woodhouse never had enough experience receiving constructive criticism to handle it well. And Elizabeth Bennet was concentrated charisma despite her average looks. 

“Are you alright, Miss Parks?” Elizabeth broke into the silence. 

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, shaking the cobwebs from her thoughts, then wincing in pain. “It's just that a friend and I have been looking for you. I can't believe I've actually found you.” 

“People have been looking for me?” Elizabeth asked, relief flitting across her face. “Oh wonderful news! I was worried that no one would know what happened.” 

“Well, it's just been Tripp and me,” Alice clarified. Elizabeth shouldn't expect to be rescued. “And he's the one with the broken leg. I don't think anyone else believed him that you exist and are supposed to be here.” 

An odd thought cut her off and Alice looked up at her companion with a sense of unease. 

“Um, out of curiosity, Miss Bennet, do you know why you're here?” 

Elizabeth sighed heavily. “If I said ‘true love and a curse,’ would you believe me?” 

“Yes, I would,” said Alice. “Especially if it involves Jane Austen and Mr. Darcy.” 

“That's comforting to hear,” Elizabeth smiled weakly, “because for the longest time I felt like I was going crazy.” Then, as emotions bubbled up quicker than she could express them, she kept talking with gradually increasing speed and volume. “I mean, I know that I was born Elizabeth Bennet, and grew up the only child to two very loving parents. And I didn't have an amazing life, but I was pretty content with it. Then all of a sudden, I can remember being a different Elizabeth Bennet, and this one is the second oldest of five sisters and her parents aren't as loving, or at least not in the same way. And it's all very confusing.” 

Listening to Elizabeth, Alice wondered if Tripp had gone through the same thing, if this awareness was the root of his mental health problems. 

“It's going to be okay,” she said soothingly. 

“No, it's not,” Elizabeth nearly wailed. The cork had popped and there was no more bottling up her anxiety. “It's getting worse! I'm losing track of the 'me’ I thought I was. All my memories of growing up in California are being replaced by memories and feelings of my original life. The first time it happened, I convinced myself that it was just a vivid dream from drinking too much. It took over a month before I had the next episode but they eventually became more frequent and I couldn't blame it on alcohol. 

“And they weren't just at night when I was asleep,” she said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I had them during the day: in the shower; in the car; at my desk; when I was out for dinner. Out of nowhere, I wanted to walk everywhere, and spoke with an English accent when I was tired! I finally told my best friend, and she laughed! Said it was hilarious for me to imagine myself as a romantic heroine and that it was probably my subconscious telling me to find a man.” 

Alice cringed. That response did feel like a natural reaction. 

“Eventually it got so bad that I went to a therapist but she was a waste of time so I went to someone else who suggested that maybe these hallucinations were my brain’s reaction to a particularly traumatic event and, if I could identify the event, maybe I could focus on healing myself from that and the hallucinations would go away,” she said, pausing to take a deep, deep breath. 

“So then I spent the next year of my life trying to figure out what horrible, unspeakable thing had happened to me,” she continued with a ragged breath. “When I investigated the first episode -- the one I blamed on too much Merlot at the conference mixer -- I realized that it was where I met Mr. Darcy, only he's not Mr. Darcy now because he's busy living as someone else, he's --” 

“Fitzgerald Darby,” supplied Alice, pleased to get a word in edgewise. 

“Yes, exactly!” Elizabeth said, relieved that Alice already knew. “And then I found out that he was the mayor of a town called Austenville, if you can believe it. So I called him.” 

“You called him?” Alice interrupted. 

Elizabeth shrugged. “I tried. He's a busy man, I'm sure, and the number I found online for his office went straight to voicemail. I gave my name and number, and nothing came of it at first but then a few weeks later, about four months ago, I got a call back. 

“It was a man but I could tell just over the phone that it wasn't Mr. Darcy. Still, he knew details that he couldn't have known if he wasn't involved with it. He asked me to meet him in Boston, said he would explain things there, in person.” 

“Who was he?” asked Alice. 

“It took me about a month to arrange for the trip,” Elizabeth said instead of answering. “I took a leave of absence from work. Maybe they don't even realize I've gone missing. Anyway, I met the man, and he so clearly wasn't Mr. Darcy but he said he had answers and explanations. I stupidly believed him because I was just so desperate to understand. The memories were coming so often by then that it was hard to keep track of what was happening in this life and what was supposed to happen in the original life, that anyone who offered to make sense of it was like a savior to me. And then he drugged me and brought me here. And I've been here ever since.” 

There was an increasingly uncomfortable silence as Alice waited for Elizabeth to continue before realizing that the story was over. 

“But who was he?” she wondered. 

“He's William. William Collins. William, the registered nurse who helped you while the doctor set your friend's leg.” Elizabeth sounded very matter-of-fact about it, but given Austen's propensity to reuse names, nothing was certain. 

“Mr. Collins!” exclaimed Alice, feeling like pieces were finally fitting together. "So he's behind all this. Of course!” 

“Of course he's _not_ ,” Elizabeth corrected her emphatically. “He's just as much a victim as everyone else.” 

Alice was nonplussed. “Um, he kidnapped you, and I think he choked me unconscious,” she pointed out. “That's not what victims do.” 

Elizabeth sighed. “It's more complicated than you think,” she said. “He didn't want to kidnap me; he was forced into it. And he only did that to you to keep the doctor from braining you with a tire iron. If you claim to know William, do you think he's the type of mastermind behind this scheme?” 

“Then who's responsible for Austenville?” asked Alice. 

An unpleasant look passed over Elizabeth’s features. “Would you believe me if I said Lady Catherine?” she asked. 

“Lady Catherine De Bourgh?” Alice blurted. “But she's been dead for years. How did a dead woman coerce Collins into kidnapping you a few months ago? Did she fake her death or something?” 

“Or something,” Elizabeth replied with a grimace. “Her death was very real as far as we know but she's responsible for the mess we're all in. She's the one who cast this curse and put us all here, in this fantasy future. She hid me far away from Mr. Darcy so he could fall in love with Miss De Bourgh, and she hid William here in town to be her secret lackey.” 

“So how is a dead woman manipulating people from beyond the grave?” Alice didn't understand. 

“She isn't,” Elizabeth said simply. “She cast a very strong curse to create this world, peopled it, and set everything into motion. From then, it's been working on its own although William has noticed that it is starting to break down. But still, she was quite proficient in cursing, and it has persisted after her death. I don't understand it, but here we are." 

“So then Mr. Collins kidnapped you under orders from a dead woman.” When Alice said it like that, it was hardly the least believable thing for the week. 

“Do you remember that I was going crazy as the curse weakened? That it was harder and harder to function in this world with the truth pressing in on me?” asked Elizabeth. “Well, William feels the same way. Apparently a side effect of the curse is that you start to lose your grip on this reality when you can see beyond it.” 

Alice could only frown mutely and think of Tripp and his sister. 

“Talking about it helps. It's therapeutic,” Elizabeth continued. “But you can't talk to just anyone. Mention it to some people and they'll think you're crazy; mention it to others -- people likewise under the curse -- and you'll make them crazy too. William only had Lady Catherine, and she's not a very good listener. She wouldn't give him the time of day unless she needed something, and even then she paid no heed to his raving.” 

“So he went insane?” Alice prompted. It would certainly explain why he was still going through the motions long after his master was deceased. 

“No,” Elizabeth shook her head. “He secretly went to a psychiatrist and told her about his hallucinations. I think you've met her, albeit briefly: Dr. Carol Singer, also known as Caroline Bingley.” 

Elizabeth stopped and just stared at her cellmate, willing Alice to figure it out. 

“Did she… not think he was crazy?” Alice said at last. 

Elizabeth nodded. 

“Oh. He made her crazy,” said Alice as her face drained of color. “Wait. Was this before or after Lady Catherine died?” 

Elizabeth bit her lip. “I only have his word on this,” she forewarned. “When Miss Bingley became aware of the curse, she realized that it was her ambition to marry Mr. Darcy, and the only thing standing in her way was Lady Catherine. So she agreed to treat William, learned all he knew about the curse and how Lady Catherine kept her power.” 

Elizabeth suddenly grinned at a childish detail. “Do you know that Lady Catherine had a magic wand, rather like Harry Potter? William said it was a gaudy thing… I'm paraphrasing here. 

“Anyway,” Elizabeth continued with a growing frown, “Miss Bingley decided to murder Lady Catherine, take her wand, and continue running the town as if nothing had changed. Except she would make sure that Mr Darcy fell in love with her rather than Miss De Bourgh.” 

Alice suddenly gasped. “Miss Bingley pushed Lady Catherine down the stairs, didn't she?” 

Elizabeth bit her lip again and nodded. “Based on William’s account,” she added. 

"So Caroline Bingley is the villain." 

"Some stories have more than one villain," Elizabeth philosophized. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Alice is not Elizabeth Bennet; she's not an Austen character, although she's not exactly an OC either (huge wink).
> 
> Thanks to those of you who took guesses though.


	8. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter and Alice has a lot of loose ends to wrap up!

The steady drip of the IV kept Tripp shielded from the pain of his injuries as well as other parts of consciousness. Alice talked more with Elizabeth to find out what she had already done to try escaping. Much of it boiled down to trying to bring William Collins to her side of the problem because, for all Miss Bennet's resourcefulness, she had never met anyone except Darcy and Bingley, and had never been to Austenville except in this temporary prison. Even if Elizabeth did escape, she had no idea where to go for help or how to get there.

"Without William helping us against Miss Bingley, it just feels impossible," she exhaled. "And we won't be able to bring your friend with us even if we could escape. There's no way he'll be able to walk unaided for months."

Alice wanted to pull her hair out. She didn't want to leave Tripp behind, but if they did get out and find help, he wouldn't be abandoned for long. In fact, he'd be better off -- they would all be better off -- the sooner they were rescued.

Eventually, Mr. Collins' heavy tread announced him and he delivered a simple meal for them to share.

"Hello, Miss," he said abashedly. "Sorry about the --" He wrapped a hand around his own throat to mimic what he had done to her. "I'm glad to see you up and about."

Alice glared at him. He had no business pretending to look ashamed if all he was going to do was offer meaningless words of apology.

"William, this is Miss Parks," Elizabeth introduced them cordially, despite the look on Alice's face. "She's concerned about her friend. Do you have any more news to give her?"

It was an almost effective olive branch, thawing some of Alice's frosty emotions as Collins explained that Tripp's leg was set in a cast that would have to remain in place for a couple months. "I'm very sorry about all of this," he added again.

"Not sorry enough to let us go!" Alice shot back.

Collins colored a bold red. He stammered that letting them go wasn't possible. "Miss Bingley will find out, and she will punish all of us. It's safer for you to remain here. She doesn't want to hurt you, Miss Parks. She just wants you out of the way until... until the wedding. Then it won't matter anymore and she'll let you go. She told me herself that is her plan."

Alice rolled her eyes. "And you believed her? She ran over Tripp with her car! Did she tell you about that too? And who's to say if she isn't responsible for getting him drunk and dumping him by the side of the road where she could mow him down? She threw Lady Catherine down the stairs! Caroline Bingley is not a nice woman. She's not someone you should trust. You're not a victim by obeying her, you're an accomplice." If ever there was a time for her to act as a catalyst, prompting others to the correct action, now was the time.

Collins' face again changed color. He tried to protest, but Elizabeth decided to side with Alice. "William, please, you know she's right. You know Miss Bingley is wrong, and dangerous. If we band together and defeat her, she won't be able to punish anyone."

Mr. Collins bowed his head in thought.

"Think of Lady Catherine," Elizabeth added, resting a hand on his arm. Alice thought it was a nice touch, well-timed. Collins had never been a superior opponent to Elizabeth Bennet.

"What about your friend with the broken leg?" Collins asked in a last-ditch effort to stay out of trouble.

"Once we get to the police, they can send someone to rescue Tripp," Alice offered eagerly.

"Public safety, not police," Elizabeth gently corrected her.

"Yeah, that," Alice agreed, tired of the distinction. "My point is: if we act quickly, Tripp will be fine."

Collins didn't agree to anything but his face betrayed his weakening resolve.

"Miss Bingley has something very special planned tonight, doesn't she, William?" Elizabeth prompted. She remained at his side, her hand shifting to his shoulder.

Collins nodded. "Her wedding rehearsal." Alice had no idea it was so soon. The wedding was next week.

"Well, then," Elizabeth said gently as if she was talking to an easily spooked animal. "The rehearsal is very important to Miss Bingley. She wouldn't miss it for anything. If you let us go while she's busy with that, we can do what needs to be done. We'll bring her to justice and you'll be free of her."

Surely even William Collins could see that it was a smart plan to sneak out while Bridezilla would be thoroughly distracted. Alice allowed herself a small smile of victory. They were going to do this! But then the expression on Collins' face grew cloudy.

With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he announced his defeat. "I can't. I know I can't. I'm sorry, you'll just have to wait one more week. Then it'll all be over."

He lurched out of the room as Elizabeth sputtered in dismay. Alice, less genteel, shouted after him through the locked door, her anger and frustration finding a colorful outlet.

When at last her imagination failed her, she threw herself down on the cot and howled in aggravation. They had been so close!

"Rest easy, Miss Parks," Elizabeth said when her companion had fallen quiet. "We'll get out of here yet."

Alice wanted to snap at her positive attitude but before she could say a word, Elizabeth tossed a jingling metal bundle onto the thin mattress next to Alice.

As she looked down at it, Alice realized how close Elizabeth had been standing to Mr. Collins, and why.

"You stole his keys," she said.

Elizabeth simply shrugged. "Needs must."

.o8o.

The Singer-Darby wedding was going to take place in the steps of City Hall, in view of anyone gathered in the square. The bride and groom would stand with the officiant near the top while their attendants were to arrange themselves on the steps below.

At least, that was how it looked when Alice and Elizabeth approached the square and saw the wedding rehearsal in progress. Suddenly all their plans to march into the public safety office went out the window. Miss Bingley was clearly distracted by the wedding rehearsal, keeping the attendants in line, reminding the officiant of his cues, straightening the mayor's tie. If Elizabeth and Alice could steal the wand now, Miss Bingley would be unable to use the magic to manipulate people, and they could return everything to how it ought to be. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"What does the wand even look like?" Alice wondered.

"It's a child's toy," Elizabeth explained; "one of those brightly colored things that triggers epileptic fits when the wind blows."

Alice rolled her eyes. "That doesn't help..." The words trailed off as she realized that she had seen the wand. It was the sparkly pinwheel that Miss Bingley had pulled from her bag when she took Tripp away. Alice remembered how Lottie Singer had shuddered when she saw that toy. "Oh."

"You _have_ seen it!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"I saw her pull it out of a very expensive handbag yesterday," Alice said. "We need to grab her purse. It's got to be in there."

They both stared at the wedding party on the steps of City Hall. Miss Bingley's purse was resting innocuously by her feet. Trying to wrestle Miss Bingley's purse away from her on the steps of City Hall in front of the entire wedding party sounded like a risky plan, but it was time to go big or go home (or at least back to their basement cell).

"Alright," Miss Bennet said as she studied the scene. "How do you want to do this?"

"If she sees either of us, it's game over, so we need to sneak up on her," said Alice. "But, good news for us: she should be so focused on Mr. Darcy and the officiant that she won't notice us walking up behind her. All we need to do is grab that bag. Why don't we split up? I could go first and attract everyone's attention while you sneak up behind her."

Elizabeth bit her lip thoughtfully. "That might work as far as an ambush goes, but I need to get close enough to grab her bag before you do whatever you're going to do. When she recognizes you, that's the first thing she's going to reach for."

Alice nodded. She knew what she needed to do. She walked forward stealthily at first before trying to make her movements more natural and less suspicious. She climbed the front steps, sticking to the edge -- just a completely normal person politely giving a wide berth to the rehearsal group. Once she reached the top, she ducked inside, trusting the glare of the glass doors to hide her from view.

Then she waited.

Elizabeth soon followed, taking the same path as Alice until she was nearly equal with the bride and groom. Alice had her hand on the door, ready to push it open and start screaming bloody murder, when she saw the mayor.

He had been standing in position dutifully. No doubt he had been raised to be on display for long stretches and could hold that pose for another hour at least. But he was looking past his bride's shoulder, looking with his entire body. The expression on his face had changed, his posture had changed, his entire world had been upended and nobody -- especially not his fiancée -- could be blind to it.

For all their concerns about keeping off Miss Bingley's radar, they had forgotten about Mr. Darcy!

Alice burst out of City Hall, but everyone's attention had already been redirected to Elizabeth Bennet who stood just outside the line of bridesmaids looking as caught as a deer in headlights.

The purse sat ignored by Miss Bingley's heels. The villain clutched her bouquet of ribbons and bows to her chest and spoke in a harsh whisper to Mr. Darcy. The mayor wrenched his eyes back to his fiancée and apologized woodenly. Then Miss Bingley snapped a command at her bridesmaids who complied by grabbing hold of Miss Bennet

Alice raced forward, trying to figure out what to do now. If Miss Bingley was controlling people without the purse, then the wand had to be on her person.

Miss Bingley caught a glimpse of motion in her periphery and turned to face Alice. The look of fury on her face was only slightly upstaged by the spark of color in her makeshift bouquet; the pinwheel was there, nestled among bows and ribbons scavenged from well-meaning bridal shower gifts. It wasn't the purse they needed to steal, but the bouquet.

Alice started down the stairs, then tripped. Her momentum had her crash into Miss Bingley and both women began to fall. Mayor Darby acted fast and wrapped a saving arm around Dr. Singer. Alice, however, continued down uninterrupted. She felt immense satisfaction at snatching the rehearsal bouquet and wand from Miss Bingley when they collided, but it was short-lived. Any sense of victory was beaten out of her as she continued tumbling down the stairs, falling through a thickening fog, and ending in a groaning, bleeding tangle of limbs at the bottom.

She had not finished groaning when a hand emerged from the fog to snatch the wand from her grasp. Alice tried to hold on, but the person was too strong and wrenched it away from her.

"Thank you," said a voice that did not sound at all grateful.

Alice looked up. Through the confusion of what was probably a concussion and the fading mist, it took a while for Alice to recognize the figure towering over her.

"Lady Catherine De Bourgh?" she puzzled. The woman's face looked like the painting Lottie Singer had shown her in the hall of mayoral portraits. But it didn't make sense. "You're supposed to be dead."

The woman only glared at her harder. It was surprisingly effective at shutting her up. When the lady was confident that she wouldn't have to deal further with the young woman at her feet, she turned her imperious expression on the wedding party.

"Fitzwilliam," she barked, "move away from that scheming hussy. Miss Bingley --" her eyes narrower to dangerous slits -- "it appears we have each underestimated the other. I assure you that will not happen again."

Alice gingerly sat up. Her arm really hurt but at least it wasn't broken. She looked up at the wedding party, who were gaping in shock and disbelief as the resurrected mayor began to advance toward them.

Miss Bingley, perhaps understanding all too well the danger she was in, began to flee. With a flick of Lady Catherine's wrist, the ribbons in Miss Bingley's discarded bouquet leapt up and bound her so that the poor woman toppled painfully. Elizabeth watched what happened to her one-time nemesis and remained still and silent.

"Aunt," cried the current mayor as Alice struggled to stand, "what is going on?"

"Silence, Fitzwilliam, and step away from Miss Bennet," she ordered, "lest I am forced to deal with her permanently. I will not have her get in the way of my triumph! I will not have some worthless nobody ally themselves with this noble family! I will not have some shameless trollop destroy Anne's happiness with her deceitful wiles!"

"Mother, no!"

Alice had almost forgotten entirely about Anne Darby, but she was standing with the other bridesmaids looking absolutely appalled by her mother's machinations.

"Anne," Lady Catherine intoned, "you and Fitzwilliam are made for each other, promised from the cradle to each other. I will not --"

"No, Mother, you must stop," Anne said firmly but gently. "I don't love him that way," she added with a sad smile, "and he doesn't love me. We don't want this. You have to let us be who we want to be, love who we want to love."

"You do not understand yet, but you will in time," Lady Catherine continued after a pause. "You must trust your mother in this matter, Anne. I have never led you wrong."

"You cannot lead my heart," Anne replied.

"You should not attempt to tell me what I can or cannot do," the matriarch warned. She raised her wand again.

Before she could use her magic however, Alice threw herself up the stairs and tackled the older woman. The wand hit the stone and snapped cleanly in half.

A small crowd rushed to them. Lottie Singer helped Alice stand upright. Anne Darby tried to help her mother, but Lady Catherine was too fixated on her broken wand to notice.

"What have you done, girl? What have you done?" she wailed in accusation at Alice, but the physical fight had gone out of her. She had used the wand as a crutch for so long that she had no idea how to lash out effectively without it. Soon, she had dissolved into sobs while her daughter sat with her on the steps and attempted to offer comfort.

.o8o.

When Alice returned two months later, Austenville was crawling with summer tourists and felt like a completely different town. She parked her car behind Jennings Sports Grille -- the closest open spot she could find after circling the area for ten minutes -- and started to walk to Sweet Nothings. The roaming crowds of vacationers had partially transformed the public square and banners hanging above the streets gave it a festive atmosphere.

Alice hadn't been back since her brother had picked her up to take her home, shortly after she had been given the key to the city and Lady Catherine and Caroline Bingley were locked up for what they had done to the town. Despite the summer-long separation, she had remained in contact with Kelly Lynch, Lottie Singer, and Elizabeth Bennet, and she was now looking forward to reuniting with them.

The trio had kept her informed of what happened in her absence. Everyone was adjusting to their double-life in Austenville, but at their own pace and with varying degrees of success. Kelly had moved forward quickly; already reunited with Fred Wentworth, she moved in with him soon after although neither of them wanted to be the first to bring up marriage this time. Elizabeth returned briefly to California to see her family and friends again before settling in Austenville. The mayor courted her publicly and she teased him with equal openness. Lottie struggled for a while with the whole gender thing, but eventually realized that Jenny didn't mind one way or the other; and if Jenny didn't mind, what did it matter what other people thought? Tripp, however, seemed to be one of the few who bore it the hardest. His sister was well and truly dead and there was no magic left to bring her back.

Out of habit, Alice checked her phone now that she was out of the car. There was nothing from her family but she had already told them that she'd call them after dinner. She had received one text message from Elizabeth just after she had started driving that only said, "help." With a chuckle, she texted back,"just parked, be there soon."

As Alice walked down the street, she scanned the crowd for familiar faces. She was planning on meeting Elizabeth, Kelly, and Lottie for lunch at the sandwich shop, but she wouldn't turn down a chance to say hi to any of the other townspeople that she recognized along the way. Unfortunately, it looked like the locals were busy tending to the needs of the out-of-towners rather than wandering around.

Alice saw the familiar storefront of Lynch's Laundromat. Something about it looked different. She slowed her steps and wrinkled her forehead as she stared at the window and tried to figure out what Kelly had done with it recently.

With a dissatisfied shake of her head, she gave up after a minute and started to cross the street to Sweet Nothings. Before she could step off the curb, however, she finally recognized someone she had really wanted to see.

"Tripp!" she squealed.

He looked fantastic compared to how he had appeared when she saw him last, walking around without a cast or a crutch or even one of those huge boots. But he also looked at her like she was the last person he wanted to run into, like he didn't even know her.

Beside him stood a pretty, young woman with an infectious smile. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" she prompted, nudging him in the side after his silence lengthened.

Tripp gaped mutely and Alice grew annoyed at him. This was so many levels of rudeness beyond a cold shoulder. She knew... she thought she knew that he was still grieving the death of his sister, that he was still trying to process what it meant that any chance to recover his sister was lost when Lady Catherine's wand was destroyed, and Alice gave him the space for that. But if he was going to stand here in the middle of town and pretend that he didn't even know her, he had another thing coming.

"I'm Alice," she said to the woman, glaring daggers at Tripp, "Alice Parks. Tripp met me, like, two months ago."

"Hello Alice, Alice Parks," the woman replied, holding out her hand to be friendly. "I'm Nelly Haber. Tripp's sister."

Alice had a momentary out-of-body experience. If Tripp's very dead sister was alive again, then something was very wrong. With a sick sense of dread, Alice remembered that odd text from Elizabeth and the inexplicable wrongness of the laundromat's front window.

"Um, I'm so sorry. His sister?" she stammered at last. Maybe this was some ironic definition of the word. Maybe this town wasn't in trouble again. Maybe she was freaking out for no good reason. "It's just, just when I met Tripp, he didn't, I, I don't remember him mentioning a sister." She shut up before she said something stupid or just started randomly screaming.

Nelly gave them both an appraising look while Tripp still stared at her stupidly. "The mayor sends me out of town for one week and my big brother meets a girl," she said, shaking her head dramatically. She wasn't gloating, but it was the sort of teasing that siblings did when they were also best friends.

Tripp snapped out of his trance and vehemently denied that he had ever met her while Alice attempted a calmer correction.

"Oh, God, no. Not like that," she said. At no point in their interactions had she thought of him as boyfriend material. Maybe a proxy brother since Dean was absent, but that was the extent of it. Then something else snagged her attention. "Wait. You work for Mayor Darby?"

An odd look flitted over Nelly's face. "Fitzgerald Darby is the city manager," she said. "Our mayor is Catherine de Bourgh."

"Lady Catherine?" Alice glanced at Tripp for confirmation that she was indeed in the middle of a waking nightmare but he still looked like he'd never met her before. It was almost as if Tripp's memories -- and indeed the rest of the town -- were magically reset to some moment before people had begun to discover the town's curse.

"Lady Catherine!" Nelly laughed at the image, then added her own joke, "More like her imperial majesty."

Nelly then asked how Alice had met her brother since Tripp was utterly useless, and Alice blathered through some reply about getting stuck there on the way to meet up with Dean. She had to keep shutting up and correcting herself to keep the whole, unbelievable truth from popping out.

As she ended her stammering and clamped her mouth shut, Nelly smiled at her and politely asked, "So, have you come back for the weekend?"

Alice swept her eyes around the street checking for little tells that Lady Catherine was back in power. But how had the witch done this? Where was an alternate source of magic since Alice had broken the magic wand? And, more importantly, how could Alice fix this and rescue her friends without Tripp Haber going crazy again?

With a blink, Alice realized that the two were still standing in front of her, waiting for an answer.

"Um, no," she said, her resolve hardening. "I have a feeling I'm going to be here a while."

 **//THE END//**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with me to the end of this story. Thanks for the kudos and comments! The TV show "Once Upon a Time" was a big inspiration to this story, as well as"Alice in Wonderland," so kudos to the readers who picked up on that!
> 
> Be safe, wherever you are.


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